


The Rules of Engagement

by bracari, Ren



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arranged Marriage, First Time, Illustrated, Intercrural Sex, Jousting, M/M, Minor Injuries, Nobility, Oblivious Yuri, Pining, Reverse Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-04 14:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bracari/pseuds/bracari, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ren/pseuds/Ren
Summary: "You were always going to marry Prince Otabek. It is only a matter of having the wedding now rather than in a few years."Viktor's tournament is Yuri's first and only chance to prove himself before he has to marry, and Yuri is going to make the most of it. He just needs to remember that he's marrying Otabek to form an alliance, not because he has gorgeous eyes. It's not as if Otabek even wants to marry him…





	The Rules of Engagement

**Author's Note:**

> Art by Helena/[bracari-iris](http://bracari-iris.tumblr.com/)  
> Story by Ren/[alcoholicrevo](http://alcoholicrevo.tumblr.com/)  
> Beta by Evy

"They're here!" the guard calls down from the top of the watchtower.

Yuri straightens his back and pastes on his most princely expression as he turns towards the castle's gate. It's a fine summer afternoon and there are several things that he would rather be doing. He could take his horse and go for a ride, or he could walk down to the tourney grounds and see if the workmen finished building the stands yet. Instead he's stuck playing gracious host to a bunch of foreign guests.

It can't be helped – Prince Otabek is among the guests and it would be insulting if Yuri weren't there to greet his betrothed – but it doesn't make him any happier about the situation. It's not as if Prince Otabek _likes_ him, he hasn't even visited for the past two years.

The royal band starts playing a fanfare as Prince Otabek rides into the castle's courtyard, dark cloak snapping in the wind, and Yuri's heart does a little flip at the sight. He doesn't remember Otabek being quite so handsome two years ago – or maybe he was, and Yuri was simply too young to notice.

Prince Otabek has grown from a lanky teenager into a broad-shouldered man and he cuts a dashing figure astride his black mare, prompting a string of appreciative murmurs from the ladies and gentlemen of the court.

"If only he smiled," Mila sighs next to him, and Yuri privately agrees.

The prince's retinue is very small, just a handful of servants. He dismounts and tosses the reins to one of his men, pausing to pat the horse on her neck before marching towards the castle.

Viktor meets him at the top of the steps. "Prince Otabek," he says, sketching an elaborate bow. "What a pleasure to see you after all this time."

"The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty." Otabek's bow is stiff, military in its precision. At eighteen, Otabek is the youngest commander ever to lead his father's army, and his demeanour shows that he's used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Yuri isn't even allowed to joust with a real lance.

Prince Otabek moves on to greet prince consort Katsuki. There's a flash of curiosity in Katsuki's eyes – this is their first meeting – but Otabek remains impassible. If he's wondering about the lowly son of a baron who managed to make the king fall in love, it doesn't show on his face.

Then he moves on, and suddenly he's in front of Yuri. They're almost the same height, Yuri realises. He remembered Otabek being much taller, but now that his own growth spurt has started, Yuri might be the taller one next time they meet. Otabek's dark eyes are just as intense as Yuri remembers, though.

Belatedly, Yuri realises he's been staring, and fifteen years of etiquette training take over. He bows, one hand on his heart, torso bent at the appropriate angle to greet a husband-to-be. Lilia herself, who's watching along with the rest of the court, would find no flaws in his posture. "Prince Otabek," he says as he straightens.

"Prince Yuri," Otabek replies in the same neutral tone. He takes Yuri's hand as he bows and brushes his lips against the back of Yuri's knuckles. That's rather unexpected – Otabek never kissed him on any of his previous visits. The gesture is old-fashioned but not unwelcome. It makes Yuri's heart flutter again, before he tells himself to stop being silly.

"You remember Her Grace, Duchess Babicheva?" Viktor says. "And her fiancée, Lady Crispino." He pushes Otabek away to greet the rest of the nobles, and Yuri is jolted out of his stupor.

Yuri feels like an idiot, acting dazed and speechless in front of his own betrothed. All that just because Otabek kissed his hand. He was just being polite, like he's being polite now as he greets Mila and Georgi and the rest of Viktor's relatives and guests.

It seems to take forever for Otabek to be introduced to and greet everyone. Fortunately, just as Lord Crispino has him cornered into a boring discussion about wheat tariffs, a strong wind picks up, tangling everyone's gowns and cloaks.

"Shall we repair inside?" Viktor calls over the noise of the wind, smiling despite the fact that his long braid is snapping madly around his face.

Everyone is only too happy to head into the castle. Otabek offers Yuri his arm, which Yuri takes after only a moment of hesitation. In the castle's hall, a dozen servants are already going around with flagons of mead and spiced wine, but Viktor motions for Yuri and Otabek to follow him.

"We'll talk more comfortably in my apartments," he says, leading the way. As they're crossing the corridor, he wraps one arm around Katsuki's waist, pulling him closer. Katsuki gives a soft laugh and tucks a stray lock of hair behind Viktor's ear.

Yuri is about to tell them that they're being disgusting, but he sees a group of noblemen wrinkling their noses at the display and bites his tongue. At least Otabek doesn't seem to have noticed. It feels as if lately more and more people are openly expressing their displeasure for the king's marriage.

Inside Viktor's solar, a servant is setting out cups and an expensive-looking bottle of liquor. Viktor waves the man away and closes the door, then he himself pours the liquor for Otabek. It's just the four of them now.

"A toast to our two countries!" Viktor proposes. He hands a cup to Yuri too, even though there's only a splash of liquor in it rather than the generous measure he poured for the others.

Otabek swirls the amber liquid around in his cup. "Before we toast, Your Majesty, we should talk about your last missive."

Viktor raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Yuri looks between the two of them and frowns. Otabek's words sound ominous, but he doesn't know what they'd been corresponding about.

"My parents…" Otabek begins, then shoots Yuri a look before continuing. "That is to say, my family and I agree with the points you put forth. In fact, it would be best to settle the date while I'm here."

"I agree, there's no sense in wasting time." Viktor will resolutely not meet Yuri's eyes. "Have you got a date in mind already?"

"Before the end of the year would be good."

Yuri can't hold back. "A date for _what_?"

Everyone, Katsuki included, looks at him like it should have been obvious.

"A date for the wedding," Viktor says.

Yuri downs his cup in one gulp. What little liquor there had been burns his throat on the way down and he almost chokes on it. This can't be, he thinks. They _can't_ be talking about _his_ wedding.

"But– the engagement hasn't been made official yet," he points out. "It's going to be announced when I come of age." It doesn't matter that everyone already knows about the understanding between their families. There's a proper way of doing things. There are traditions, both spoken and unspoken.

"Ah, yes," Viktor says, like it doesn't matter. Then he gives Yuri and Otabek a grin, and it's the grin he reserves for when he knows he's pissing people off and needs to turn on the royal charm. That's when Yuri knows he's fucked. "Happily, all of our lords and ladies are here for the tournament. Several foreign nobles too – you've already met the Crispinos, and King Jean-Jacques is due to arrive any day now–"

"How lucky," Yuri deadpans. "I wouldn't want Leroy to miss this." He goes to pour himself more liquor, and not even Katsuki tries to stop him.

"We thought you could announce it on the last day of the tournament. There's a banquet planned – it can be in celebration of your engagement." At least Katsuki has the decency to look embarrassed. Yuri wonders if he's the last person in the kingdom to learn about this. "If that's agreeable to you. To both of you."

"It is agreeable," Otabek says, in a tone so mild and passionless he could have been talking about the weather.

Yuri just nods and grips his cup so hard that it's a miracle the cup doesn't break into shards.

They toast. Yuri tosses back the stinging liquor and wonders how many cups it would take him to get drunk. He's never been interested in trying alcohol but today seems the perfect day to start.

Otabek looks just as uncomfortable as Yuri, refusing to meet his gaze and fidgeting in his seat as Viktor and Katsuki make small talk about their upcoming nuptials. At least it's not just Yuri who feels this way, but couldn't Otabek have found someone he could stand to look at?

It's a relief when Otabek begs off, claiming a desire to see that his retinue has settled. Yuri doesn't know how much longer he could have kept his temper in front of him. This time Otabek doesn't kiss his hand and merely bows his head to him in parting.

Yuri waits until the door has closed before turning to face Viktor. "What in hell do you think you're doing?"

Viktor raises his hands in a placating gesture. "Yurio, calm down…"

"Don't call me that!" Yuri snarls, voice thick with liquor and rage. "Have you gone insane? Pushing forward my wedding for no reason–"

There's a discreet cough as Lilia and Yakov enter through a side door. "That was my idea and not the king's," Lilia says. "And there are good reasons for it. Don't raise your voice, Prince Yuri, it's undignified."

Yuri seethes. " _Why_?"

Lilia waves away Viktor's offer of a chair and goes to stand near the window instead. She's the only calm person in the room. Yakov is glaring at everyone and Katsuki is eyeing the door wistfully. Even Viktor's perennial smile is starting to flag.

"To begin with," Lilia says, looking out at the courtyard below, "you were always going to marry Prince Otabek. It is only a matter of having the wedding now rather than in a few years."

She says it like it's nothing. To Yuri, those few years were his entire life.

There are so many things Yuri wants to do. Yakov was going to let him compete in tournaments once he turned sixteen – real tournaments, not just pretend tournaments with fake lances and padded armour. Yuri was going to win more jousts than Viktor himself did in his golden years. He was finally going to show everyone that he was more than a pretty face. He was going to travel and see the kingdom.

Yuri wonders if he could still have that, even if he's married to Prince Otabek – but he already knows that once he marries, he'll be expected to take his place at his husband's side, to help him maintain diplomatic ties with their neighbours and administer the land. There will be no time for anything else.

"But why _now_?" Yuri whines. "We can make the engagement official next week, if that makes you happy, and then we'll get married in two or three years…"

Lilia's lips are pursed, a thin line of displeasure. "We can't afford to wait that long. Not even one year."

Yuri snorts. "You're making no sense."

"It's because of me." Viktor exchanges a glance with Katsuki, who looks away. "Or rather, because of my marriage to Yuuri."

Yuri shakes his head. "People don't like your choice of prince consort. So what?" He'd hated Viktor's new husband too, until he'd come to grudgingly acknowledge him.

"It's more serious than that." For a startling moment Viktor's smile flags and he looks tired and sad. Yuri has never seen him make that face.

"The talk in the cities throughout the kingdom is that the king has disgraced himself." Lilia pauses, choosing her next words carefully. "Most nobles, especially those who were vying for His Majesty's hand in marriage, feel insulted to have been passed over. Some go as far as to say that he should abdicate."

Had it come from anyone else but Lilia, Yuri would have thought it a joke. " _Abdicate_?" he repeats, trying to match the word to the mental image of Viktor in the middle of an adoring crowd of his subjects. "Nobody wants that!"

"So far only a small group of disloyal noblemen do," Yakov says. "But they're quickly gaining support." It's the first thing he's said since entering, but it shuts Yuri up. Yakov was grandfather's military advisor. He knows people, and more importantly he knows Viktor's liege lords and ladies. There's no way he is making this up.

"Understand this, Prince Yuri," Lilia says. "You are currently in a very precarious position. If Viktor abdicates while you remain unmarried and before you come of age, you will have no allies, no influence, no money. You would be entirely at the mercy of whoever would win the struggle for the throne."

"I'd still have the engagement to Prince Otabek."

Lilia makes a dismissive gesture. "As a distant relative of the disgraced king who lost the throne, you'd be useless to him. He'd break it off in the blink of an eye." Her words shouldn't cut as much as they do. "However… it's a different matter if the two of you were already wed."

Yuri looks from Lilia to Viktor. "Why? What's the difference?"

Viktor smiles. "If you, a member of the royal family, married the rich and powerful commander of a foreign army… Yurio, you'd be perfectly poised to take the throne for yourself."

By dinnertime, Yuri already regrets agreeing. Life in the castle goes on as usual and there are no signs that any of the servants or guests wished for Viktor to abdicate. It's not that Yuri doesn't believe Lilia and Yakov about the discontent in the provinces, but the two advisors are growing paranoid in their old age. Viktor's lieges are always grumbling about something or other – it doesn't mean they're about to drag him from the throne. And now they want Yuri to throw away the best years of his life in preparation for an eventuality that in all likelihood will never happen.

His mood doesn't improve when he learns that he's stuck sitting next to Prince Otabek at dinner. Otabek has been given a seat at the high table, in the guest of honour's position at Viktor's left, and Yuri is on his other side. So, in between trying to make stilted small talk with his too-soon-to-be-husband, Yuri also gets to witness the king and prince consort acting disgustingly affectionately with each other.

As the night goes by and Viktor gets more and more drunk, Yuri starts thinking that maybe running away to become a knight errant wouldn't be such a bad idea. It must be better than trying to entertain Prince Otabek, who has barely said two words despite Yuri's attempts to engage him in conversation.

Yuri has already asked Otabek if the rooms he's been given suffice for him (they do), if his men have also been lodged (they have), and if his family is well (they are). He casts about for something to say. "Tell me, Prince Otabek, are you looking forward to the tournament?"

Otabek pauses halfway through spearing a piece of fruit on his dagger. "I am," he says, turning his too-intense stare on Yuri. "I enjoy jousts. Will His Majesty also take part?"

It's the longest sentence he's said all night, so Yuri makes an effort to keep the conversation going. "He isn't. King Viktor hasn't ridden in a tournament since he took the throne. He has, uhm, other concerns at present." It's a good thing Otabek is turned the other way, so he can't see Viktor putting his hand on what Yuri hopes is his husband's knee. "The prince consort will take part, though."

This last part is spoken at a louder volume, in the hopes the two lovebirds will join the conversation or at least stop what they're doing under the table, but Viktor is either drunk or uninterested. Otabek, on the other hand, perks up at Yuri's words.

"The prince consort? They say he's one of the best knights alive."

Yuri shrugs. "He's all right," he concedes. He pushes the cold remains of his roast swan around in his plate.

"I look forward to measuring myself against him."

Yuri blinks at him in surprise. "Are you also riding in the joust?"

Otabek looks completely serious when he nods. "As I said, I enjoy the sport." He must misunderstand Yuri's look of amazement, because he adds, "Do you have any objection to it?"

"Why would I object?" If Lilia were here, she would tell Yuri in no uncertain terms that he can't allow his betrothed to die before they're married. But it's not Yuri's concern if Otabek wants to go and risk his own neck. "If you want to joust then you should."

"Then I will."

His face is still expressionless, but even so, Otabek sounds ten times more enthusiastic for this tournament than he ever did for their wedding.

That's what makes Yuri snap, like a challenge. "I'm entering the tournament too."

He braces one hand on his chair's armrest, ready for the inevitable reply: that he can't, that he's too young, that he's too small to hold a lance. He's heard it all before. Knights are always ready to dismiss Yuri with a laugh, right until he knocks them on their arse.

Otabek doesn't laugh, though, nor does he try to tell Yuri not to ride in the joust. He just stares at him, unsmiling. Yuri has no idea what he might be thinking. "I look forward to seeing you ride," Otabek says. "I hope we can meet in the finals."

Maybe Otabek is just humouring him, thinking Yuri will be knocked off in the first round. Or worse – maybe he's hoping Yuri will get himself killed, to save himself the trouble of getting married without having to disappoint both of their families.

It would be nice if Otabek meant his words. Yuri wonders how it would have been if they'd met under different circumstances – not as princes, but just as two knights competing in the same tournament.

"Let's hope we get to face off against each other," Yuri says, and there's the tiniest hint of a smile in Otabek's expression as he nods.

In another time and place, they might have been friends.

Yakov, as expected, almost has an apoplexy when Yuri tells him to add his name to the list of participants.

"Absolutely not. It's too risky."

Yuri snorts. "I'm better than everyone else in the entire kingdom and you know it. You trained me! You know I have the skill to be a knight."

"Your skill doesn't matter. Jousting is a dangerous sport. Even the best riders can be thrown from their horses – lances can pierce through the weakest points of an armour – I won't allow it!"

Yuri sticks out his chin. "I'm not asking for permission, I'm _telling_ you I will do it. You all think I'm old enough to marry, so I'm also old enough to make my own decisions."

"Prince Yuri…" Yakov sighs. He tries to change tactic. "When your lamented grandfather passed away, he made me promise that I would look after you. I can't protect you if you insist on taking needless risks."

The mention of grandpa tugs at Yuri's heartstrings, but Yuri shakes his head. It was grandpa who put him on his first pony and praised him the first time he rode full tilt against a straw mannequin. "Grandpa would let me do it," he says, and Yakov sighs again, resigned. "Get me the blacksmith, there aren't many days left until the tournament."

Fitting the armour takes much longer than Yuri expected. The suit of armour that he used until last year is now too small for him, thanks to his recent growth spurt. The helm, the gorget and the gauntlets could still be salvaged with some adjustments, but the chest plate is a lost cause. Yuri appreciates the extra inches but they've come at a very inconvenient time.

The blacksmith hems and haws and in the end admits he won't be able to produce new armour before the start of a tournament. Yuri threatens to joust with just some chain mail or a leather vest, and Yakov's face turns beetroot red.

They're about to embark on another argument when Viktor shows up and offers to give Yuri his choice of the suits of armour that he used in his youth. One of them turns out to fit Yuri almost to perfection. It is more foppish than Yuri would like, having been made to Viktor's taste, but it's very well made and lets him move easily.

Yuri examines himself in the mirror and nods in satisfaction. The steel shines silver, almost white, and there's an elaborate etching of a swan on the breastplate. The helm also has two wings at each side, in keeping with the waterfowl motif.

"This is nostalgic," Viktor says, picking up the shield and testing its weight. The shield bears the Nikiforov coat of arms, a crowned white eagle on crimson. It will have to be painted over with Yuri's arms. "I wore this at the tournament for Christophe's fourteenth birthday. That was so long ago… Our parents were trying to matchmake us." He shakes his head and gives a short laugh.

The armour is not what Yuri would have chosen for himself – he would have preferred something with spikes on it, or a dragon-shaped helm. With this armour, Otabek might think that he's only entering the tournament to look good rather than to fight. Yuri tells himself that it doesn't matter: as soon as people see him joust, they'll know what he's capable of.

"Thanks," Yuri mutters, shooting Viktor a glance. "I didn't think you'd help. Yakov was trying to stop me from taking part."

Viktor winks at Yuri. "Of course. It's not as if we can change your mind, so this is the least I can do."

After making arrangements with the blacksmith to have the pauldrons adjusted and the shield repainted, Yuri picks up his sword and heads to the tourney grounds.

The joust will take place downhill from the castle, in a large flat clearing on the southwestern the edge of the forest. Long wooden stands have been erected on one side of the clearing and the area in front has been roped off and marked with coloured flags. The king and his guests will watch the event from the best vantage point, sitting in comfortable chairs under a silk awning. The minor nobility and the merchants will have to make do with long rows of plain benches, and there's plenty of standing room for the populace.

A veritable forest of tents rise up on the eastern side of the tourney grounds – large and small, plain and coloured, many of them decorated with banners bearing the coats of arms of their occupants. Yuri will have his own pavilion in which he'll get changed and store his armour and his lances during the three days of the tournament, but he won't have to sleep in there. The most important noblemen and Viktor's personal friends have been given rooms at the castle, while landless knights have to sleep under the stars.

Several of them are wandering about, talking among each other or practising swordfight. Yuri spots Georgi and Mila at one edge of the field and marches towards them. His feet squelch in the mud left by recent rains. Georgi is swinging his sword against a dummy, while Mila is sharpening her longsword; they both stop to stare at Yuri when he approaches.

"Is it true that Prince Otabek is going to propose before the week is over?"

Yuri rolls his eyes. "Good morning to you too, Mila."

Mila and Georgi exchange a look. "So it _is_ true!" Mila exclaims.

"Congratulations are in order," says Georgi. "He's a great catch – and handsome."

"No need to look so grumpy," Mila adds. "I've seen the looks between the two of you."

Yuri shrugs and elbows Georgi aside so he can take a couple of swings against the dummy. Great, Mila saw him ogle Otabek. Yuri wonders if Otabek noticed too, and wishes he could disappear. The sword's blade thwacks against the wood and leather. "I don't know what you're talking about. Seen what? You're blind."

Mila's face breaks into a grin. "He's _handsome_ ," she says in an annoying sing-song voice. "And you _know_ it…"

"You're _engaged_ ," Yuri snaps. "Should you be looking at other people's fiancés?"

"Sara likes him too."

"I envy you," Georgi puts in. "Look at you, both betrothed, and you're both younger than me."

"I'm not officially betrothed yet," Yuri points out, but Georgi isn't listening.

"Whereas I am just a lowly baron, and I'm destined to live out my life alone because nobody will have me!"

He presses his hand to his forehead and strikes a dramatic pose. Behind his back, Yuri rolls his eyes.

"Come on, you're not that badly off," Mila tries to put in. "You're a catch, there's plenty of young lords and ladies who would be happy to have you."

Georgi shakes his head mournfully. "No, thank you, you're very kind but I'm far too old. It's too late for me."

"You're the same age as Viktor and he only just got married," says Mila.

"Besides, ever since Lady Anya spurned me, I am heartbroken. Love is not for me."

"It's not love." Yuri grimaces. "It's just an arrangement."

"Anyway." Mila shrugs and turns towards Yuri. "This is a surprise: we thought you were waiting until next spring to make the big announcement."

Next spring is Yuri's sixteenth birthday. He also thought he had at least that much time, if not longer. He makes a vague noise and strikes the dummy again. His blade bites through the wood and sends a piece of wood flying.

Mila narrows her eyes as she studies Yuri. "What about the wedding? Did he ask for a short engagement?" She must have read the answer in the tensing of Yuri's shoulder, because she lets out a high-pitched squeal of delight. "He did, didn't he! Oh my, he must be eager…"

Her grin widens and Georgi gives him an encouraging smile.

Yuri pulls a face. "You are talking nonsense."

He wishes the two of them would stop giggling. But he can't tell them the truth about his hasty wedding – if he did, his friends would pity him. So he stays silent and attacks at the innocent dummy until the laughter dies down.

"So how long are you waiting?" Georgi asks. "Two years? Less than that?"

Yuri shakes his head. "It hasn't been settled yet." He leans against his sword, feeling the sweat trickling down the back of his neck. If Georgi thinks two years is a short engagement, Yuri wonders what they'll think when they realise he'll be married before the year is over.

The first day of the tournament dawns sunny and warm. There had been concerns about rain, which would have turned the ground into a muddy mess unsuitable for jousting, but strong winds have chased away all of the clouds.

Yuri is bouncing with excitement as he climbs the stands with Yakov and the other noblemen. He can't wait to show everyone what he's got, but the random draw placed him in the last group of knights, which means that he'll have to wait until later in the day before he can ride.

Otabek is in one of the early groups, so they won't get to face off unless they both get to the finals, but Yuri doesn't need the extra motivation. He's already determined to win the whole thing.

"Looking for your betrothed?" Mila asks.

Yuri immediately steps away from the parapet and scowls. "I wasn't. Anyway he hasn't come out yet. But I wasn't looking for him. Uhm, ladies," he adds, belatedly, making a leg.

Lady Sara Crispino is also there, arm in arm with Mila. Both of them curtsey, giggling under their veils.

"Prince Otabek is still getting ready," says Sara. "I saw him go into his pavilion as I was wishing my brother good luck."

"You still have time to go to him before the tournament starts," Mila adds, waggling her eyebrows in a very unladylike way.

Yuri doesn't even pretend to consider that idea. He's spent the last few days carefully avoiding Otabek; it's a lot easier to keep from ogling him if they're apart. Yuri feels like he's making real progress in convincing Otabek that he doesn't have a stupid crush, and he's not about to ruin it by swooning in front of his armour-clad fiancé.

Not that Yuri knows for sure that Otabek looks swoon-worthy in his armour, but given his track record, it's very likely.

Yuri shrugs. "Not interested. He's a competitor, remember?"

"If you say so." Mila flashes him a grin. She's wearing an ornate black gown embroidered with gold thread, while Sara has a purple gown that brings out the colour of her eyes.

Yuri latches on that opportunity to change the subject. "Why are _you_ dressed like that? Aren't you entering the tournament?"

The girls exchange a look. "Not this time," Mila says.

Sara beams at her fiancée. "She's being kind enough to give my brother a chance to win the glory."

Two crimson splotches appear on Mila's otherwise pale cheeks. "Your brother doesn't need me to sit out…"

"But it helps," Sara finishes with a laugh, and neither Mila nor Yuri contradict her.

One year ago, Lord Crispino announced that nobody would wed his sister unless they defeated all other suitors to her hand and beat him in single combat. One year ago, Mila disguised herself as a knight and did just that.

Yuri was there to witness their duel. He doesn't know what shocked Michele Crispino the most – being forced to yield under his enemy's sword and giving up Sara's hand in marriage, or when Mila removed his helm and he realised he'd been defeated by a lady.

"Oh, well." Yuri shrugs. "Sorry for your brother but _I'm_ going to take home the winner's laurels this time."

Sara smiles. "We shall see."

It's too bad Mila won't be taking part. She's good, and even though Yuri has faced her often during practice, he'd like to test himself against her in a real tilt. He wonders if there will be another chance for that before he gets married.

Viktor makes his entrance, announced by the heralds' trumpets. Yuri and the other noblemen take their seats and Viktor launches into a long-winded speech about jousting being the most splendid pursuit and about the bravery of knights assembled here. Viktor looks every inch the benevolent king today, clad from head to toe in Nikiforov crimson, and as always the crowd is hanging on his every word.

Yuri looks carefully but there are no signs of discontent, not a single person getting up to demand that Viktor relinquish the throne. What Yuri does notice, however, is the way Viktor's eyes never stray far from his husband while he's speaking. It's borderline sickening, and Yuri makes a mental note to tell Viktor as soon as he can.

Katsuki sits on his horse at the edge of the field. He's already clad in his black armour since he's in the first group of contenders. His horse and his cloak are also black – the only note of colour is the bright red half of his shield bearing Viktor's arms.

There are some murmurs when Katsuki urges his horse forward on the field, but Yuri doesn't know if that's because the populace disapprove of him. Some of them might be surprised that he dares to bear the king's arms along with his own, even though he was a mere landed knight before his marriage, but Katsuki has every right to it. Perhaps the crowd is also surprised that the prince consort would take part in a tournament. It's not in keeping with tradition, but then again Viktor and his pig-headed spouse have a habit of trampling tradition under their feet.

If people were expecting a show from famous tourney knight Yuuri Katsuki, however, they are disappointed. Katsuki is unpredictable on the field, meaning that on any given day he can be anything from exceptional to laughably incompetent. Today he's the latter. Even from his place in the stands, Yuri can see that Katsuki is shaking with anxiety.

Katsuki isn't a coward, not in the sense that he's afraid of jousting, but something about being the centre of attention tends to turn him into a nervous mess. It's his first tournament since getting married, but by the way Katsuki is acting, you'd think this was his first tournament altogether. He fumbles his lance on the first pass and only stays in the saddle because his opponent misses the mark entirely.

As the two knights walk their horses back to their starting positions, Yuri sneaks a look at Viktor. The king is sitting on the edge of his chair, fingers clenched together as if in prayer. On the second pass, Katsuki barely strikes a glancing blow and then drops his lance, but his opponent still manages to fall off his horse. Yuri claps unenthusiastically while Viktor jumps to his feet to cheer with the rest of the crowd.

The next several rounds don't get any better than Katsuki's dismal performance. The sad truth is that many knights are not very good and the truly interesting tilts will take place two days from now, after the worst of the bunch have been weeded out. Yuri slumps in his chair and resigns himself to a long morning of tedium as he waits for his turn.

Among those who qualify for the next day of jousting, there are a few knights who prove themselves to be a cut above the rest. Yuri memorises their names: they're the ones he's most looking forward to facing in a future round. After all, he can only prove that he's the best if he's facing a worthy opponent.

Katsuki's friend Sir Phichit shows unexpected talent in a sea of mediocrity. While he lacks the showmanship that makes Katsuki shine on a good day, he holds himself well on a horse, and acquits himself honourably by unseating his opponent on the first pass.

Lord Crispino rides under the stand after his win, standing up on his stirrups to talk to his sister, and sticking around long enough that Sara has to call his squire Emil to take him away so the tournament can continue. Georgi obtains an easy win but looks rather disconsolate when he removes his helm. Yuri sees him look at the stands and doesn't have the heart to tell him that Lady Anya left earlier in the company of her latest beau.

King Jean-Jacques Leroy is the highest-ranked person in the tournament, and also the most annoying. Yuri hopes his horse will dislike him enough to throw him off, but no such luck. His Insufferable Majesty is an excellent rider and quickly dispatches his opponent, then spends an inordinate amount of time blowing kisses to his wife and to the crowd. Yuri gags. The Leroys travel with a huge entourage; it's almost as if they brought half of their kingdom to cheer for Jean-Jacques, and they are all so loud when they do.

Then there are more mediocre unknowns, and Yuri has almost fallen into a stupor when the herald announces Prince Otabek. Yuri straightens himself and focuses on the field.

Otabek enters on a dapple stallion. He turns towards the stands and bows – his visor is lowered, so it's impossible to guess who the greeting is meant for. Most likely just a courtesy towards King Viktor and his court, Yuri thinks.

Once both opponents are ready, they raise their lances and wait for the herald's signal. Yuri isn't sure what to expect, since he's never seen Otabek joust before. He hasn't heard anyone talking about Otabek's skill with a lance, either, so he might be mediocre or he might not generally take part in tournaments.

Viktor had invited Otabek to the tournament in honour of Yuri's fourteenth birthday, but Otabek had declined, claiming he was needed at the border. It had been the year his kingdom had suffered several raider attacks, and Otabek had just started serving as his father's army commander, so there might have been some truth to that. Maybe he wouldn't have come anyway, since the tournament was for the squires and younger noblemen, and they all had used padded armour and were forbidden to ride at anything faster than a trot.

Yuri had won that tournament, but the victory had felt hollow. It had just been a pretend tournament, an amusement for children. Yuri doubts Otabek ever bothered with pretend tournaments. Even his armour looks severe and plain, a stark contrast to the elaborate things worn by most of the nobility for this event.

When the herald gives the signal, Otabek urges his horse forward. He rides well, though he reminds Yuri more of a soldier ready for war than a sporting knight. It's strange. Yuri knows that jousts are a recreation of the clash between two warring knights, but he's never been more aware of that fact than now. Both Otabek's and his opponent's lance hit their target. There's a sound of wood crashing on metal as the lances snap. Otabek's arm barely shakes. His opponent tumbles sideways.

"He's good!"

Yuri lets out a startled breath and shoots Sara a glance. On the field, Otabek is tugging at his reins to halt his horse, turning it around to go check on his opponent. The man is flailing on the ground, trying to get back to his feet, and doesn't seem hurt. The herald raises a flag to signal Otabek's victory.

"He's very good," Yuri murmurs. He's better than that: he's the best in the tournament so far. The crowd is cheering him on – even though he's a foreigner, everyone appreciates a good show.

"I saw him joust before, a couple of years ago," Mila says. "He was… competent, but unremarkable. This is completely different."

"He must have trained," Sara muses.

Otabek lifts his visor and takes a final bow before leaving the field. Yuri could train for years and he still wouldn't be able to do what Otabek did just now. It doesn't mean that Otabek is better; Yuri can still see himself beating him. But to have that amount of sheer physical power, to be able to simply ride forward and withstand being hit squarely in the middle of his shield, and all with hardly a tremor in his arm…

Whatever his growth spurt might yet bring, Yuri is built to be tall and lanky, with delicate bones. His own jousting is made of careful equilibrium and timing. Suddenly, Yuri can't wait to measure himself against Otabek. Just the thought makes his heart beat faster.

"Are you all right?" Mila asks. "Yuri?"

Yuri slowly uncurls his fingers from the seat's edges, and he turns his gaze away from the point where Otabek disappeared towards the pavilions.

"I'm fine," he snaps, jumping to his feet to cover his confusion. "I was just thinking – it's about time for me to prepare."

He pushes away from his chair and hurries down the stands, ignoring Mila and Sara's shouted calls of good luck. He doesn't feel like talking right now.

Yuri presses the tips of his fingers to his breast, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat. He doesn't know why he's so bothered – it's not as if he'll face Otabek today – but his heart stubbornly refuses to slow down. He hasn't felt like this since the first time he sat on grandpa's knees and saw two knights charge against each other for the first time. It's like discovering a new way of jousting he never knew about.

He's so deeply absorbed in his thoughts, head bowed down and frowning, that he almost runs straight into someone coming out of a pavilion. They both stumble back and barely avoid a collision. Yuri opens his mouth, ready to verbally skewer the lout who got in his way.

"Your highness," Otabek says. "My apologies, I didn't see you there. Are you hurt?"

Yuri is actually stupid enough to gape at him before sanity returns and he closes his mouth. "No, I– The fault is mine, I wasn't looking where I was going. I am headed to get my armour."

Otabek nods. He's changed into regular clothes, a simple blue tunic over leggings, but his dark hair is still tousled and sticks out at odd angles from being pressed under his helm. Yuri tears his eyes away from that, focuses on the frown between Otabek's eyes. "I'll watch the rest of the tilts from the stands."

Yuri tries not to dwell on Otabek's words. Of course Otabek is interested in watching his future opponents. But it also means that he'll be watching Yuri too. "By the way," he says, affecting a casual tone, "congratulations on your victory."

Otabek nods again. "Thank you." He hesitates, wavering on his feet.

It's the first time Yuri has seen him like that, almost unsure of what to do. He thinks maybe he's going to kiss his hand again, but there are a lot of people milling around. In the end Otabek limits himself to another bow before turning around and striding towards the stands without a backwards glance.

Yuri's mind is a jumble as he storms inside his pavilion, which is bad because he's about to need all of his focus for the joust. He yells for a squire to help him with the armour.

The routine of getting ready helps Yuri calm down. There are endless scores of buckles to be closed and fastenings to be tied, and every single piece has to be checked to be sure that it is attached properly and doesn't restrict movement. By the time Yakov shows up for a final check, Yuri is breathing normally again.

He picks up his shield, noting with appreciation that it has been repainted with his arms: blue, with three scarlet eagles on a silver band. They're the Plisetsky arms, and they haven't been seen on the field for many long years. Yuri has been waiting for this moment, the chance to finally do his grandfather proud and show what he's got.

When a messenger boy comes to summon Yuri to the field, his mind is focused on the task ahead. If Yakov notices him feeling a little tense as he gets on his horse, he doesn't say anything: after all, he's about to finally joust for the first time against real opponents. To be totally calm would mean becoming complacent.

He takes the lance that's being handed to him and rides towards the tourney grounds. On the way he passes the two knights who jousted in the previous tilt. The loser's armour is dirty with grass and mud and looks badly dinged. Yuri looks away and towards the field, head held high.

Yuri's opponent, some hedge knight he's never heard of, is already waiting at the other edge of the long field. They both take their places at opposite ends of the low barrier running parallel to the stands. A few squires are waiting on the sidelines with more lances, in case both opponents break their lances without being unseated.

There is no need for them. As soon as the signal is given to start the joust, Yuri urges his horse into a gallop. The noise of his horse's hooves almost drowns out the roar of the crowd. His lance hits his opponent straight on the shield, and he barely feels the recoil as the other knight falls sideways into the mud.

The whole thing lasts just a few short moments. His own lance hasn't even broken. Yuri, heart thumping hard, raises his helm's visor with a gloved hand and turns towards the stands. Viktor is clapping, and so are Mila and Sara.

Yuri's gaze roam the stands until he finds what he's looking for. Otabek is standing in a corner of the royal tribune, leaning against the parapet, calling out something that Yuri can't hear. He raises one arm in greeting.

He wants to say that this is nothing – his opponent was young and clumsy, he's shown just a fragment of what he's capable of. But, as the crowd cheers for him, he flushes with pleasure.

Yuri is walking back to his apartments at the end of the tournament's first day when he hears a couple of familiar voices.

"Let's have a cup of wine," King Jean-Jacques says. "I want to congratulate you on your impending nuptials!"

"Your Majesty." Otabek's voice is coldly polite. "I have to refuse."

"I'll introduce you to my wife…"

Yuri has no wish to speak to either of them, but Otabek turns around and notices him crossing the castle's inner courtyard.

"Prince Yuri," Otabek says, bowing in greeting, and then Yuri has to at least go over and say hello.

"Prince Otabek and I are going for a drink," Jean-Jacques says. Yuri notices the way Otabek's mouth tightens at those words. "Come with us. The more, the merrier!"

"I've got things to do," Yuri says, vaguely. Things like napping until dinner, or perhaps ordering a warm bath to wash away the sweat and dust of the tournament. Drinking wine and making small talk with Jean-Jacques and his intended sounds about as pleasant as being hit over the head with a mace.

"Come on, just for a short while!"

Yuri knows he should accept. Not only does Jean-Jacques outrank him, his kingdom is one of the largest and richest. He's a powerful ally and if Lilia were here she'd tell Yuri that it behooves him to cultivate his friendship. But Lilia isn't here and Yuri doesn't feel like playing the diplomat today.

"I'm also busy," Otabek puts in.

Jean-Jacques looks between the two of them, clearly amused. "Maybe next time, then," he says with a wink. "I'll leave you two lovebirds alone."

Yuri turns crimson. He looks down at his boots, not wanting to know what kind of face Otabek is making. Fucking Jean-Jacques Leroy, always running his mouth.

"Apologies for that," Otabek says after Jean-Jacques has gone. "It seems His Majesty heard rumours of an engagement."

"I figured that," Yuri mutters, annoyed. "It's as if everyone knows already."

"Most people try to at least pretend that they don't know," Otabek replies, sounding equally annoyed.

Yuri flashes him an involuntary smile. "So true. Do you think he does it on purpose, or does he manage to be utterly annoying by accident?"

"I believe that there are people who find him charming."

Yuri scoffs. "Mad people." For one perfect moment, he and Otabek stand in the courtyard, just grinning at each other.

Then sanity returns and Yuri glances around to check that nobody saw or overheard them. When he turns back, Otabek's face is a polite blank mask once again.

"I'll let you get on with your business," Yuri says.

"As a matter of fact," Otabek says, "Prince Yuri, there's something I need to discuss with you."

Yuri's heart skips a beat. The words sound ominous. "What, now?"

Otabek nods. "I'd prefer it. We can postpone it if you're busy, but we should–"

"Now is fine," Yuri blurts out. "I'm not really busy, it's just something I said to get rid of _him_."

"Then, is there somewhere we can talk?"

The courtyard is empty right now, but it's right between the great hall and the tower housing many of the guests. At any moment, someone might chance upon them. Yuri thinks about taking Otabek to his apartments, but it seems improper somehow, even if they would just be talking. After all, despite the rampant gossip, they aren't even engaged yet.

"This way," Yuri says, leading the way towards a small garden.

Otabek offers him his arm and Yuri takes it gingerly, trying not to lean into his warmth. The sun is going down and a cold wind is rising; their cloaks snap behind them as they walk.

"Congratulations on your victory today," Otabek says.

"Thank you." It's too bad that, because of the way the match-ups have been arranged, he won't face Otabek. Yuri has looked at the names of his opponents for tomorrow, and then promptly dismissed them as insignificant.

The garden isn't far and it's completely deserted when they arrive. The flowers and shrubs are arranged in old-fashioned patterns and not very well-tended, so most people prefer the larger formal gardens in front of the castle.

Yuri leads Otabek to a small hedge maze. To call it a maze is perhaps an exaggeration: it takes them just a couple of turns to reach the centre. Otabek steps away from Yuri to brush away some leaves that got on his clothes.

"So?" Yuri asks. He looks at the evergreen walls looming around them. Nobody is going to bother them here. "What did you want to talk about?"

It occurs to him that this is the first time they have a chance to talk in private. But Otabek, far from acting relaxed, is more stiff and formal than ever.

"There are some points to our upcoming marriage that we should discuss." Rather than a groom-to-be, he looks like a general on the eve of battle.

"What points?"

"Specifically, the wedding night."

For a moment, Yuri thinks he misunderstood, but even in the fading light of the sun he can see a blush darkening Otabek's face. "Oh," he says stupidly, unable to stop all kinds of images from entering his mind.

Otabek looks terribly embarrassed, but still he soldiers on. "I wanted to say– We don't have to consummate the marriage on the wedding night."

It's not what Yuri expected to hear. "We don't?"

"We don't," Otabek repeats, emphatically. "Not if you don't want to. We can wait, or we can just never do it. You know that, right?"

Yuri has never actually thought about it. He supposes Otabek is right. They're both men, so it's not as if they can have children of their own. It won't matter if they consummate the marriage or not. Even so, Yuri had somehow expected that they would, because it's what people do when they get married.

Or is it? Yuri realises that he has no idea. People don't talk openly about what goes on in bedrooms, and Yuri has never been interested enough to ask. Who knows how many married couples actually sleep in the same bed?

Yuri stays silent, mulling it over. Maybe it's better this way. They're not in love, so it's kind of Otabek to spare them both the embarrassment of having to sleep together. Or maybe Otabek finds him so unattractive that he can't bring himself to do it. Yuri tries not to think about that.

But Otabek will still need heirs. Yuri frowns. "The line of succession in your kingdom…"

"Is restricted to persons of royal blood," Otabek concludes for him.

It means he'll either adopt a younger relative – usually a nephew, a niece, a cousin – or acknowledge a natural child. "Do you, um," Yuri begins, and then his voice gives out. He can't bring himself to ask Otabek if he plans on taking a mistress after their wedding.

"I've got five sisters," Otabek offers. "Two of them are already married. They don't have children yet, but I don't expect any problems with the line of succession."

That still doesn't answer Yuri's unspoken question. It's Otabek's business who he wants or doesn't want in his bed – and, after seeing the crowd cheering him on after his joust, there's no doubt that Otabek could find plenty of people to warm his bed if he wanted. Yuri wants to forbid Otabek from taking mistresses, but at the same time he doesn't want to be that kind of spouse.

"The next point to discuss," Otabek says, "is the matter of our living arrangements."

Yuri tries not to wince – there are so many things to consider before their marriage, and he hasn't thought about any of them. "I assumed we'd live here," he mumbles, making a vague gesture towards the castle looming in the distance. He's lived here since childhood, and he assumes Viktor won't mind if he and Otabek move into one of the larger suites of apartments.

Otabek, however, looks pained at the suggestion. "Because of my position as commander of the army, I need to stay close to my father's seat. The borders are safer now, so I won't need to travel as much as I used to, but even so, I won't be able to leave Almaty very often."

"So… we'd live there?" Yuri knows little about Otabek's homeland, save that it's far to the west, its castle nestled atop a mountain range. His heart plummets at the thought of leaving everything and everyone behind to follow Otabek there.

Otabek must have read the distress in Yuri's eyes, because he hastens to shake his head. "You won't have to actually live with me. That is to say – you'd be expected to visit for some time, and also so that you can be crowned prince consort. There's a ceremony for that."

"Oh," Yuri says. It's a lot to take in, and he's still reeling from the talk about the wedding night. "But I wouldn't have to live with you?"

"It's fine if you'd rather stay with King Viktor and your other relatives," Otabek says quickly. "You can live here for part of the year, or even most of the year, if you prefer it that way."

"I understand," Yuri says. He turns around, kicking a small pebble. It bounces over the uneven ground and the sound echoes in the empty maze. "Would you come and visit? Or would I be expected to?"

Otabek hesitates. "We should be seen together at least once or twice a year. I'll try to make time for visiting here, if it's not inconvenient…"

"We can arrange it around your schedule," Yuri says. "If you're too busy, let me know and I will come to Almaty for a few weeks every year."

"That sounds agreeable. My apologies for the nuisance."

It's a cold way of talking about their future. But Otabek is making it very clear that he doesn't want anything more than a contract between them. In exchange, he'll let Yuri do as he likes and live wherever he want. The least Yuri can do is be equally reasonable.

Yuri meets Otabek's gaze. "Is there anything else you wanted to discuss, Prince Otabek?"

Otabek opens his mouth, then closes it again. He shakes his head. "We've already talked about all of the important things. Let's go back inside, it's going to be dark soon."

Yuri is in a sour mood the next day. He blames it on Viktor and his husband who are being even more disgustingly intimate than usual. Katsuki seems to have gotten over his nervousness and shows off by unseating two opponents in a row without even breaking his lance. After the second tilt he rides under the stands and Viktor offers him one of the roses from his flower crown. When Katsuki brings the rose to his lips, Yuri is just about ready to throw up.

"Disgusting," he mutters, turning away from the royal couple. They must know that everyone's eyes are on them but it doesn't stop them from acting like newlyweds.

Yuri would never give Otabek a rose, not even if he could pluck one from the stands festooned with flower wreaths (though the yellow ones would look fine against the gold of Otabek's shield). He slumps in his seat, cradling his chin in his palm. It's almost Otabek's turn – Yuri is going to wait for Otabek to win his match, and then he'll congratulate him in a normal way. There's no doubt in Yuri's mind that Otabek will win today; his opponents are too weak to pose a threat to him.

In fact, there have been so many mediocre matches that Yuri has stopped paying attention to what's going on in the field, until a loud crash startles him out of his reverie. Around him, people are jumping to their feet and gasping.

"What is it? What's happened?"

The two knights who have been jousting are lying on the ground, having both unseated each other. Yuri can't even remember their names. Does he know either of them?

"I hope they're not hurt," Sara murmurs, pressing her hands together.

Mila leans forward, trying to see better. "I don't think so. Look, they're getting up."

Yuri glances at one of their shields, lying discarded on the grass: it shows a pale blossom painted in a foreign style that's quite different from most of the other shields. One of the clumsy knights must be His Highness Guang Hong, one of the younger sons of the Emperor of Ji.

The other man, the Comte de la Iglesia, takes off his helm and pushes himself to his feet. Viktor has already sent the royal physician to check on them, but de la Iglesia waves the old man away.

"We're fine!" he calls in a loud voice before walking over to Guang Hong and helping him to his feet.

After more reassurances that they're not gravely hurt, the two stumble off the field to nurse their bruises. Falling off a horse in full armour is never a pleasant experience, even when nothing gets broken.

With a sigh, Mila falls back in her seat. "How sad for them, facing each other even though they're best friends, and in the end they both got eliminated!"

Yuri shrugs. "That's what happens when dolts take the field."

"That's not fair. They rode well – it was just rotten luck on their part."

"At least they weren't hurt too badly," Sara puts in.

"Yes, we've been lucky to avoid injuries up until now…"

"I heard yelling, what did I miss?" Georgi's voice is even deeper than usual and he stifles a yawn as he sinks in the seat next to Yuri like a dead weight.

"Never mind that," Mila says, leaning over to give him a good look. "I was starting to wonder if you'd come at all, it's so late! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Georgi mumbles, picking at a scab on his chin where he cut himself while shaving.

Yuri has never known Georgi to be anything but punctilious about his own appearance. This is serious. "You look like you haven't slept a wink."

"I was composing a song for Anya," Georgi says, like that's a perfectly reasonable explanation. Maybe in his world it is.

"You stayed up all night composing a song?" Mila raises a questioning eyebrow and glances at Sara.

Yuri just rolls his eyes. Typical Georgi.

Georgi, however, shakes his head. "The song itself didn't take me long. But when I went to sing it under her windows, I couldn't get her to wake up. It took me forever to get her to open her shutters."

"You went to serenade under Anya's windows in the middle of the night?" Mila asks.

"Exactly."

Yuri has never been happier that his apartments are in a different wing of the castle. Mila seems to be thinking along the same lines. "Why?"

"I wanted to beg her to give me a token of her favour. I was going to wear it today for luck."

From his phrasing, Yuri guesses that he didn't get any token. "It's dumb, anyway," he mutters. "Tokens? Good luck? Spare me–"

"Did Anya like your song?" Sara cuts in, in a futile attempt to find a bright side in the mess of Georgi's love life.

Georgi offers a tremulous smile at the question. "I hope so. I'm not sure." Seeing their puzzled faces, he clarifies: "She never actually came to the window. She sent her maid."

"Oh… well… did she send you a message through the maid?"

Georgi nods. "In a manner of speaking. The maid said something along the lines of 'go away and don't show your face here again'." His smile vanishes, replaced by a thoughtful expression.

Mila and Sara look like their puppy has just been kicked.

"I told the maid I wouldn't go until I saw Anya–"

"And?"

"–and she threw a pail of water over my head. After that, I left."

"She didn't!" Sara exclaims, just as Mila slams one fist into the other hand muttering, "That woman's nerve…"

Yuri snorts. "She's an ass. And you're an ass too, pining after her like a fool, when it's obvious that she doesn't want you!"

"Yuri!" Mila snaps.

Georgi runs a hand over his dishevelled face. "You're not wrong. I just can't stop myself from loving her." His deep voice is soft enough to make Yuri feel guilty for snapping at him. But this pointless thing with Anya has been going on for far too long.

"Just forget her already," Yuri says, pushing himself to his feet and squeezing past the first row of seats.

"Where are you going?" Mila asks, annoyed.

Yuri doesn't turn back. "To get ready. It's almost my turn."

"Not for ages yet."

"You'll miss Otabek's tilt!" Sara reminds him.

Yuri ignores them both. He doesn't care about Otabek's tilt. He's going to win the entire tourney and that means defeating Otabek too. Otabek's feelings won't be hurt if Yuri defeats him. Otabek won't care if Yuri watches him ride or not. He hardly likes Yuri at all.

The only thing Yuri should do right now is concentrate on his own tilt. However, when he storms into his pavilion, he finds it deserted. He paces up and down the cramped space, waiting for his servants to return from wherever they ran off to, growing increasingly annoyed.

After a few minutes, it dawns on him that the servants have gone to watch the tournament. It's early enough that the idiots must have thought they'd be able to slack off before Yuri's arrival without him noticing. Fuming, Yuri turns around and marches back towards the stands.

This time, instead of going up the rickety wooden stairs leading up to the nobility's seats, he turns towards the back of the field. A group of servants from the castle are watching the entertainment from there, leaning against the whitewashed fence surrounding the field. As expected, Yuri's own squire and manservant are there too, elbowing each other for the best vantage spots.

Yuri marches closer, intending to give the two men a piece of his mind. He can't help but notice that Otabek is on the field at the moment.

Otabek and the other knight seem to have just made a pass at each other. They both broke their lances; their squires are fetching new ones while other servants clear away the larger pieces of broken wood scattered around. Yuri watches as Otabek tests a fresh lance's weight before trotting his horse to his end of the field.

There's just a few feet separating them, but Otabek is facing the other way and doesn't notice Yuri sliding closer and nudging the servants aside to watch the tilt. Pushing to the front of the crowd, Yuri can see clearly enough to recognise Otabek's opponent. It's Lee Seung-gil, a nobleman from some tiny far-off country.

Yuri isn't sure about the exact translation of Lord Seung-gil's title – he might be the equivalent of a baron or an earl – but he doesn't need to know since the man is so standoffish he never talks with anyone. He's an expert combatant, though. Yuri has seen him joust the day before and Seung-gil, though not the best of the bunch, was clearly a cut above average.

Otabek doesn't seem worried. As soon as the herald gives the signal, he urges his horse forward, lance pointed forward and shield held high. Yuri holds his breath. The two combatants crash in the middle of the field, and Yuri leans forward, trying to see better.

From the spot where Yuri is standing, it's not easy to understand what's happening. Yuri can only see Otabek and his horse from behind; Otabek's shoulder shakes from the recoil after hitting Seung-gil. Both riders are knocked sideways by the impact, but while Seung-gil falls on the ground with a crash, Otabek manages to grab the reins to steady himself and remains in the saddle.

The herald looks to Viktor for confirmation and then raises one arm to declare Otabek the winner of that tilt. Yuri lets out a breath.

Otabek lifts the visor of his helm and nods to Viktor, then looks around at the crowded stands, as if searching for – _no_ , Yuri corrects himself, as if he's taking in the applause and cheering of the crowd. There's no reason why Otabek would be looking for anyone in particular in that crowd.

Yuri turns around, snapping a brusque command to his servants, and marches away before Otabek can notice he was there.

Yuri rides at breakneck speed through the plains around the castle. The wind on his face and the countryside rushing by are clearing his mind, but he's still shaking after his tilts. Even though he won them all and is through to the finals, he rode so badly today that he's furious with himself.

The fields are deserted. The farmers all went to watch the jousts, and likely lingered at the tourney grounds to partake of the ale and pies that Viktor had prepared. Yuri can't help but wonder how much of that spread is due to Viktor's generosity and how much is cold calculation. Viktor loves his peasants, but happy peasants are also less likely to revolt.

He doesn't want to think too hard about it. If he does, he might remember the way Otabek stood next to Viktor as they watched Yuri's dismal performance. On the first pass, Yuri's lance struck only a glancing blow and didn't even break. He managed to unseat his opponent on the second pass, but there was no artistry in Yuri's jousting, none of his usual grace; he might as well have charged blindly. Yuri hates the way Otabek clapped (almost perfunctorily) at the end of the match.

Yuri urges his mare on, jumping over a fence, rushing along a narrow road between two fields. Her hooves thunder over the packed earth. In the back of Yuri's head there's a voice that sounds suspiciously like Yakov, telling him that he should be more careful. Yuri is tired of being careful. There's a weight on his chest and sometimes he doesn't know what to do but scream his frustration to the whole world.

He's managed not to scream, so far, but riding is the next best thing. The mare was a gift from grandpa – he'd chosen her himself when she was just a filly and presented her to Yuri for his eighth birthday. She's a clever creature who runs like the wind. Even when her rider's mind wanders, she remembers which paths are Yuri's favourites and knows the way home.

When Yuri finally tugs on the reins to slow down, he finds he's been riding in a large circle around the castle. He has no idea how long he's been out: it feels like it's been ages, but the sun is still high in the sky. He turns the horse's head toward home.

The shortest way back is across the bridge and then through a copse of trees. All of the forest, including this stretch of land, belongs to the king, so Yuri is surprised when he hears noises coming from the direction of the river. Yuri stops his horse and leans over her neck to listen. The noise sounds like human footsteps.

There's no doubt that the trespasser is a person – an animal wouldn't make so much noise. Yuri wonders if it's a poacher, even though they usually come out only at night. The footsteps continue for a few moments, then stop. Just as Yuri is starting to wonder whether he imagined them at all, there's a loud splashing sound that causes a flock of sparrows to take flight.

Frowning, Yuri gets down and walks the mare towards the copse, trying to look through the dense underbrush. He ties the reins to a low branch and leaves leaves her grazing in the tall grass before heads towards the water's edge. He can't see the trespasser from the path, because the trees are blocking the view, but whoever it is, the lout is going to get a good thrashing.

The first thing Yuri sees is a messy pile of clothes discarded on the grassy shore. He pauses, noting that the shirt and the breeches look rather fine, like something that a nobleman would wear. The sword next to the clothes, too, is simple and unadorned but very well-made. It also looks strikingly familiar.

Yuri looks out towards the river, and it hits him then. That's Otabek's sword. That's Otabek, standing naked in the waist-deep river, splashing handfuls of water over his face to wash away the sweat and grime of the tournament. The water drips down his chest, making his well-defined muscles glisten in the sunlight.

Heart pounding, Yuri jumps behind a large tree just as Otabek lifts his head. Yuri's heartbeat is so loud, it drowns out the quiet murmurs of the river. Did Otabek notice him? Yuri prays not. Otherwise, he might just die of embarrassment.

After several moments pass without Otabek calling out anything, Yuri lets out a sigh of relief. At the same time he feels like a complete idiot. He has no idea what he's doing, skulking behind a tree like a child playing hide-and-seek.

He should have simply called out to Otabek after recognizing him. It is improper for Yuri to see his intended in this state of undress, but Yuri is here by coincidence, so he's not at fault. If anything, it's Otabek who should be embarrassed for bathing out in the open where anyone could see him.

And yet, Yuri feels his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he remembers the rivulets of water running down Otabek's muscles. The way his broad shoulders flexed as he bent to scoop another handful of water. The dark hair dusting Otabek's chest and the trail of hair starting from his navel and ending below the waterline–

There is still time. Yuri could reveal himself now and greet Otabek normally. But he doesn't do it, not trusting his voice to remain steady, nor his eyes not to wander.

Yuri's heartbeat begins to slow. The wind whistles between the tops of the trees, then quiets. The copse is silent, save for birdsong and Otabek splashing in the river. Yuri peeks around the tree trunk, ready to flee should Otabek notice him. Otabek has turned around, so all Yuri sees is his muscled back and the curve of his arse.

Yuri ducks back behind the tree, flushing crimson. He can't possibly reveal himself. If he tries to speak to Otabek now, Otabek will _know_. If only he weren't so attractive, or so uninterested in Yuri.

Yuri needs to go. If he's not going to announce his presence, then he should hurry up and leave while Otabek's back is turned. Yuri quietly steps away from the tree and heads back towards his horse. As he leaves, he can't help himself – he glances over his shoulder, taking one last look, committing the lines of Otabek's body to memory.

Yuri's foot treads over a fallen branch. The piece of wood snaps, the sound ringing loud under the silent trees, and Otabek turns around sharply. Yuri freezes as he meet Otabek's stare. His eyes are wide with surprise. Yuri wishes the earth would open and swallow him whole.

"Prince Yuri."

"Prince Otabek." Yuri's throat feels suddenly dry. There is no reasonable way to explain his presence, or why he was skulking around spying on him.

"Why are you–" Otabek begins.

"I came to take a bath," Yuri says, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. He lifts his chin as if daring Otabek to call him out on the lie.

"Should I leave?" Otabek asks instead.

Yuri shrugs, as if it makes no difference to him. "Do as you wish."

Yuri is sure that his face is crimson with embarrassment as he marches towards the shore, unbuttons his doublet and tosses it next to Otabek's clothes. Next go his shoes and shirt. When he's down to his breeches Yuri pauses for a moment, but it's too late to stop. He unlaces the breeches and pushes them down his legs with hands that aren't quite steady.

This is fine, Yuri thinks. He doesn't look up to check whether Otabek is looking or not, or whether he's staying or going. All his concentration goes to stepping out of his breeches and underwear without tripping.

Even after he's stripped down to nothing, Yuri doesn't feel cold. The sun is warm on his naked skin, and his blush is also warming up his face. Head bowed low to avoid Otabek's eyes, bare feet squelching in soft mud, Yuri walks into the river.

The first touch of cool water feels icy against his skin. He's careful to stay downstream from where Otabek is, several feet away from him. Just as though he had come to bathe and Otabek's presence is only a minor annoyance. The cold water bites at his calves, but he can't turn back. Bending, he splashes a handful of water over his face, trying not to shiver.

From the corner of his eye he can see Otabek hasn't left yet. Yuri splashes more cold water over himself, feeling the fine hair on his arms stand up as goosebumps dot his skin. Why on earth did Otabek come here instead of bathing comfortably in a tub at the castle?

Yuri steps further into the river, until the water reaches up to his stomach. It's too cold to dive deeper. He plunges his hands beneath the surface, looking at the way his fingers appear blue-green and distorted underwater. His hands are trembling slightly. Yuri can almost fool himself into thinking it's because of the cold.

"I saw you jousting today," Otabek calls out to him.

Yuri snorts at the reminder of his dismal performance.

"Congratulations on advancing to the finals," Otabek says. "I hope we face each other tomorrow."

"Why?" Yuri snaps, looking away to avoid Otabek's stare. "So you can have an easy win against a lousy opponent?"

His vehemence startles Otabek. "What? That's not what I–"

Yuri cuts him off. "I don't need your condescension, nor your false congratulations." He slaps his palm against the water in frustration.

Otabek hesitates. "I don't know the reason for your animosity towards me, but my words are sincere."

"Really?" Yuri snorts. He shrugs one slim shoulder. "As you say, Your Highness."

Otabek's face falls, and Yuri regrets speaking so harshly. There's something about talking like this, naked and away from every other living soul, that strips away all the layers of diplomacy that Yuri usually coats his words with.

Otabek looks to the shore. Good, Yuri thinks, let him leave, let him get his clothes and disappear.

Instead, Otabek says, "Do you hate it so much? The thought of being married to me?"

"Isn't that my line?"

Otabek frowns. "If you want to call off the engagement, there is still time."

Yuri doubts their families would see it that way. Instead he asks, "Do you want to call it off?"

When Otabek starts wading towards Yuri, Yuri has to fight the urge to turn away and run. "I don't want to call it off," Otabek says, stopping barely an arm's breadth away from Yuri. "I thought you knew."

"Know _what_? That you don't like me?"

Yuri pauses when Otabek draws a sharp breath. He resolutely doesn't look at the way his stomach muscles clench with the movement.

"Is that what you think?"

"What else should I think?" Yuri snaps. "You've been very clear about your distaste for this wedding. Even though…"

"Though what?" Otabek prompts, his voice hoarse.

Yuri turns aside. "Never you mind."

"Yuri." It's the first time Otabek has said his name like that, without a title, and Yuri can't help himself – his heart flutters. "I've nothing but the highest respect for you."

"Just that? You would have just… respect?"

Otabek's dark eyes are too intense. Yuri lowers his gaze, then realises he's looking at Otabek's midsection and quickly looks away towards the shore, suddenly too aware of their nakedness.

"I'll have whatever you're willing to give," Otabek says. "Ever since I heard talk about you – about you being a most graceful rider, skilled with both lance and sword – you've filled my thoughts."

Yuri lips part soundlessly. "People are saying that about me?"

Otabek turns and stares at the distant trees. "When I was too busy to visit, I asked after you. Everyone who saw you ride told me the same thing: that they'd never seen your equal."

Yuri holds his breath. If it came from anyone else, Yuri would think it an empty flattery. But Otabek has a way of giving weight to his words.

"I wanted to see you again," Otabek continues. "To see for myself if you're everything they say of you."

"And?" Yuri asks, the word barely a sigh.

Otabek looks at him, then. "I've never met anyone like you. You're unforgettable, Prince Yuri. I would be honoured to become your husband."

He holds out one hand. Yuri takes it, twining their fingers together. Otabek's hand feels warm, the palm calloused and just a little wrinkled from staying in the water.

Yuri steps closer. His heart is thundering. "But you don't want to bed me. You said so."

"I never said anything of the sort." Otabek stares down at Yuri, in a way that makes Yuri weak at the knees. "I meant you don't have to bed me if you don't want to. As for what _I_ want… Yuri…" He leans forward. His voice is warm, soft.

Yuri closes the distance between them and presses his lips to Otabek's.

He had it all wrong, Yuri thinks, licking into Otabek's mouth. Otabek is soft and yielding under Yuri's tongue. He twines his tongue with Yuri's and Yuri moans into the kiss.

"Otabek," he sighs when they break the kiss to breathe.

Otabek puts his hands on Yuri's hips to steady him. They're close, so close that Yuri can hear Otabek's heartbeat against his chest, and there's only a scant few inches of water between them.

"What do you want, Yuri?"

Yuri wonders if it's possible to get drunk just from hearing Otabek say his name. He wraps his fingers around Otabek's biceps and presses himself against Otabek, shivering as his half-hard cock rubs against Otabek's thigh. "You."

Otabek's hands slide towards the small of Yuri's back, holding him close as he presses their lips together. Everywhere they're touching, his skin feels scalding hot, like a brand.

"We shouldn't," Otabek says, even as he's palming Yuri's arse underwater. "We aren't even engaged yet."

Yuri looks up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. "Nobody will know." He presses a kiss to the corner of Otabek's mouth, then another under his jaw. He can feel Otabek's pulse point under his lips, beating rabbit-fast. "We're getting married soon anyway, right?"

Otabek groans as Yuri presses a biting kiss to his neck. "Even so. It's not… proper…" he stammers. His erection presses hard against Yuri's stomach.

"Hang propriety," Yuri breathes out, dragging Otabek towards the shore.

They fall on a sunny patch of grass in a tangle of limbs, with Yuri sprawled on his back and Otabek straddling him. Yuri wraps his arms around Otabek's shoulder and pulls him into another deep kiss. Otabek's hands settle on Yuri's sides, his thumbs tracing little circles on his skin. Otabek moves his hands higher, a slow caress that has Yuri moaning into the kiss. When Otabek brushes his thumb over Yuri's nipple, Yuri arches his hips off the ground.

"Otabek!" he gasps, breaking the kiss to suck in a large breath.

Otabek looks down at him. Water drips from the ends of his hair and over Yuri, like scattered raindrops. Yuri blushes at the thought of being completely bare under Otabek's intent gaze, but he's too far gone to stop now. He wraps one leg around Otabek's waist, digging his heel in the small of Otabek's back, tugging at him.

"You're beautiful," Otabek murmurs, ducking his head to press a kiss to Yuri's chest, and Yuri feels his cheeks flush even more furiously. "You're so beautiful, Yuri."

Yuri scrapes his fingertips against the short hair at the nape of Otabek's neck as Otabek presses a trail of kisses over his skin. He jerks his hips, trying to rub himself against Otabek, to relieve at least some of the ache in his groin.

"I want you." Yuri tugs at Otabek's hair, until Otabek lifts his head and looks him in the eye. "Otabek, I want you now." His voice is a low whine. He's never felt like this before, so on edge and desperate for more.

Otabek gives a slow exhale. He moves to cradle Yuri's cheek. "I want you too." He swallows. "But I… I don't have any oil. I don't want to hurt you."

Yuri lets out a groan that's half desire and half disappointment. Even though he's a virgin, he's heard enough from older friends to know what the oil would be for. He also knows that the first time is supposed to hurt, and it hurts more without preparation. "I don't care." He turns his head to nibble at the tips of Otabek's fingers. "Take me now, Otabek."

Otabek growls, low in his throat. "You've got to joust tomorrow," he says, but when Yuri shifts underneath him and lifts his hips to rub himself against his leg, he doesn't stop him.

Before Otabek can raise more objections, Yuri presses another biting kiss to his lips. The inside of Otabek's mouth is scalding hot, almost feverish. Whenever their tongues slide together, Yuri feels his pleasure mount, low in his stomach. "Otabek," he moans against his lips, raking one hand down Otabek's back.

Otabek shudders and the movement presses his body even closer to Yuri. Their cocks slide together and he bites back a gasp. Yuri's breath is coming in shallow pants. Even without Otabek inside him, he feels unbearably good, but he needs more. His leg rides up Otabek's side.

"Wait." Otabek puts his hands on Yuri's sides, stilling him. His voice is rough, his chest rising and falling with every laboured breath. For a moment, Yuri worries Otabek will try to stop this, but then he says, "Turn around."

Yuri is eager to comply, rolling on his stomach and then pushing himself to his hands and knees. He shoots Otabek a glance from over his shoulder, and Otabek leans in for a kiss.

Otabek drapes himself over Yuri's back. He props himself up with one arm; the other arm is wrapped around Yuri's waist, his hand resting against Yuri's ribs. When Yuri pushes back, pressing his arse against Otabek's groin, he can feel Otabek's arm tremble.

"Hurry," Yuri moans. He lets his head hang between his shoulders. His hair falls messily in front of his eyes. He feels Otabek put his hand on his hip, and Yuri braces himself, stomach muscles clenching. He doesn't know how much pain to expect, but surely it won't be worse than the pain of not having Otabek's hands on him.

Otabek presses a kiss at the juncture of Yuri's neck and shoulder. "Yuri." His lips brush against Yuri's skin. "Close your knees."

He guides Yuri with one hand on his thigh. Yuri shuffles his legs together, crushing the soft grass underneath him.

"Like this?" Yuri asks. He almost chokes on the words as Otabek thrusts his cock in the tight space between his thighs. Yuri slides forward, his arms suddenly unable to support him, and only Otabek's arm keeps him from falling face first into the ground.

"This is…" Otabek moans something unintelligible against Yuri's skin. "Yuri… Does it feel good?"

Yuri can barely think. With each thrust, he can feel Otabek rubbing against the underside of his cock and his balls. It's rough and a little bit perfect. He squeezes his legs together – Otabek growls and Yuri feels his cock throb between his thighs.

"Yuri…"

"Don't stop." The words feel thick in Yuri's mouth. He twists, blindly reaching around until his hand finds the back of Otabek's head; he pulls Otabek in for a messy kiss, all teeth and harsh breaths.

Otabek's hips stutter. "I'm– I'm going to– Yuri!" His hand grabs Yuri's hip hard enough to leave a bruise as he thrusts one last time, spending himself against Yuri's thighs.

Yuri shivers at the warm, wet feeling of come trickling down the inside of his legs. He grinds his arse against Otabek and palms himself with a shaky hand, until he comes with a noise between a moan and a sob.

Otabek falls on his side and barely manages to avoid pinning Yuri under his weight. Yuri collapses next to him and rolls over, burying his face in the hollow of Otabek's collarbone. They lay in the sun for a long while, breathing fast. Yuri closes his eyes and listens to Otabek's heartbeat slowly go back to normal.

When their legs are steady enough to stand, they walk back into the river to rinse away the sweat and come. For Yuri, it's just an excuse to touch Otabek more; he can't seem to get enough of feeling Otabek's muscles shifting under his hands. As for Otabek, his touches are gentle, almost reverent.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, fingers ghosting over Yuri's sides. "Was I too rough?"

Yuri shakes his head. He hopes he's not blushing. "You too. I didn't mean to… um…"

There are red marks along Otabek's shoulder blades. Yuri can't look at them without cringing, but Otabek rolls his shoulders dismissively. "I don't mind. They can be a good luck token from you."

At that, Yuri does blush. "Do you think you'll need luck tomorrow?"

"Maybe." Otabek's voice is low, intent. "I'm going to ask King Viktor for your hand in marriage."

Yuri's stomach does a small flip at those words. He still isn't used to think about his impending nuptials with anything but annoyance and mild dread. It's different this time. Yuri hums, all his focus on the way Otabek says his name – intimately, without formal titles. "I'm pretty sure he knows we're getting married…"

"I'm going to ask him after the tournament."

Yuri's mouth opens in a small 'o' of surprise. All the noblemen and the common folk will be there. "You mean to make it official, then. Tomorrow."

Otabek takes Yuri's hand into his own and drags his thumb over Yuri's palm. He stares down at Yuri's curling fingers, damp hair falling into his eyes. "The sooner, the better. I've compromised you. It would be bad for your reputation if it became known."

Yuri steps close to Otabek, leaning his head against his shoulder, and gives a snort. He can't bring himself to regret what happened.

"I should have waited." Otabek brushes a kiss on top of Yuri's head. He doesn't sound terribly regretful either. "I'm sorry."

Maybe Yuri won't have a whirlwind romance like Viktor and the other Yuuri did, but at least he's getting married to someone who likes him. Yuri can become friends with Otabek, and being married to a friend doesn't sound too bad, especially when making love to that friend feels so good.

"It's fine. Nobody will know, we'll just be careful until the wedding. But – let's have a short engagement, all right?"

The random draw assigns Yuri to the second joust of the day. That's good – if he had to wait long he might lose focus and let his mind wander like he did for half of the night. Even though he didn't get much sleep, when he swings into the saddle Yuri feels fully awake and ready to win the entire tournament.

Yuri rides into the field after Katsuki soundly defeats Lord Crispino. He ignores Katsuki's words of encouragement and stares straight ahead, his head held high.

His opponent is Sir Phichit, an old friend of the prince consort. From what he saw on the previous days, Yuri would say that Phichit is one of the weaker fighters remaining, but he's not underestimating anyone who made it to the finals.

Yuri takes his time selecting a lance, testing its balance as he surveys his opponent, his horse, the ground made soft by the rain that fell overnight. Otabek is watching him from the sidelines, but Yuri allows himself only a brief moment to wave back at him before turning his attention to the task at hand.

It takes Yuri only a few heartbeats to unseat Sir Phichit and send him flying into the mud. One match down, two to go, Yuri thinks. He checks that Sir Phichit is all right before taking a slight bow in front of the cheering audience.

"Yuri! Well done!"

Mila is waving at Yuri from the eastern edge of the field. She's standing elbow to elbow with knights and squires – the foreign ones seem perplexed by the appearance of a lady in their midst, while Georgi's squire gives her a polite bow before hurrying away towards his master's pavilion.

"Why aren't you up in the stands?" Yuri asks by way of a greeting. He gets off his horse and tosses the reins to a waiting manservant.

"Sara went to cheer up Michele," Mila says, glancing towards a sky-blue pavilion further to the east. "But I couldn't miss your joust."

Yuri takes off his helm. Even though a cool wind stirs the flags and banners on the field, he's sweating with all his layers of leather and metal, and a few locks of hair have escaped from his ponytail. He tucks his hair behind his ears.

"It was nothing special," he tells Mila, trying not to sound boastful. He is rather proud of himself – if he can ride as well as he did in the next two jousts, the winner's crown will be his.

Mila grins, as if reading his mind. "If you get to the final match, you might have to fight your intended."

Yuri snorts. "I don't plan on losing to anyone."

As he says so, he looks around, but Otabek is nowhere in sight. He's likely gone to get ready, since he's jousting soon. Instead, Yuri notices Georgi walking towards them, already in full armour.

"Good morning, Georgi," Mila calls. Yuri nods at him.

"Good morning." Georgi's deep voice echoes inside his helm. He looks slightly less sleep-deprived than yesterday. "Yuri, I heard you won. Congratulations."

"Thank you. And good luck." If Georgi wins this joust, he'll be facing Yuri next. It would be an interesting match – Georgi is almost twice Yuri's age and Yuri has been sparring with him all his life.

Georgi's squire brings his horse around. On the opposite side of the field, Christophe is already mounting his horse.

Clearing his throat, Georgi turns around and stares at the stands. "Did you happen to see Anya today, by any chance?" he asks, completely failing to sound casual.

"Yes," Mila says with a sigh. "She's here with her fiancé. Did you not hear about the engagement?"

Yuri hadn't heard. From the way Georgi goes still, he hadn't either.

Georgi lowers the visor of his helm with a loud click. "I hadn't." His voice rings sharper than usual. "Well, then. Good for them… Good for her. I'm happy for them."

"Georgi…"

Georgi gestures to his squire and mounts his stallion, struggling somewhat with the weight of the armour.

"I'm fine. I knew it was over. She was the love of my life, but I wasn't the love of hers, so I'll never love again."

Before Yuri or Mila can answer, he trots away towards the field.

"Why must he always be so dramatic?" Yuri asks.

Mila snorts in a very unladylike manner. "As though you haven't been pining and moping around all week."

"I haven't–"

"Come to think of it!" Mila smirks and narrows her eyes. "You seem to be in a good mood today for a change. Did something happen?"

Yuri hopes his face isn't turning red. "Nothing happened," he mutters. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"If you say so." Mila, nosy hag that she is, sounds amused. Then her tone changes as she looks at the stands. "Hey, do you know who she is?"

Yuri turns around, since that's easier than looking over his shoulder while wearing a gorget. "Who? The blonde blowing a kiss to Christophe?"

"No, silly, she's waving at _Georgi_! Look! She's giving him something."

Yuri shrugs. "Maybe she's with one of the foreign delegations." Despite Lilia's attempts, Yuri can never remember all the names and faces of the noblemen from neighbouring kingdoms. "She must have weird taste in men."

"Don't be rude," Mila says, poking his cheek. Yuri swats her hand away. "I hope Anya saw that; she didn't deserve Georgi."

Georgi says something to the mysterious lady, then goes to the starting mark. The trumpet blows. Yuri wanders closer to the fence to frown at the two knights as they ride against each other – whoever wins this will face Yuri next.

Both Georgi and Christophe are very good riders. They're old to still be competing in tournaments, but they make up for their lack of youthful agility with their experience. On their first pass, they both break their lance on the other's shield, but they manage to stay unseated.

There's some scattered applause from the audience as they go back to get fresh lances. Yuri notices that Viktor is looking at Christophe and wonders, not for the first time, how different everyone's lives would have been if Viktor had married his childhood friend like everyone expected him to. Even though they were never officially betrothed, it had come as a surprise when Christophe announced his engagement to another man. Then Viktor had shocked the kingdom by marrying Yuuri Katsuki…

Georgi and Christophe start another pass. Georgi rides well, but he holds the tip of his lance a fraction too low. Both lances hit the target and, while Christophe manages to shrug off the blow, Georgi staggers sideways and falls off.

Yuri clicks his tongue. "If only he'd hit him squarely." Georgi is physically stronger; he might have been able to knock Christophe off the saddle.

"What a pity – I thought this time he'd make it," Mila says, echoing his thoughts. "He's always eliminated right before the finals…"

Christophe flashes Viktor a smile as he rides under the stands. Georgi slowly picks himself up and walks back, nursing his bruises. His squire dashes to the field to retrieve the horse.

"Are you all right?" Mila asks, taking the helm from Georgi's hands. "Let's get you back to your pavilion and check that nothing is broken."

"Only my pride is wounded. I need to go and find the young lady who wished me good luck."

"She didn't give you much luck," Yuri mutters.

Georgi shoots him a hurt look. "She meant well, and that's all that matters."

"Good for him," Mila says as they watch him go. "I never liked Anya anyway."

"He did. For some weird reason."

"If he married her, he'd have ended up miserable."

Yuri shrugs. "It's just a marriage. Not everyone can be lucky like you and end up engaged to a childhood friend– What?"

Mila is giving him a strange look. "You think it was luck?"

"I mean… Of course you won Crispino's tournament because of your skill, but if he hadn't held the tournament in the first place–"

"We spent _ages_ convincing him to hold a tourney for Sara's hand." Mila looks to the forest of tents behind them. "And then, when he wouldn't let me enter because I was a woman, I had to come up with a disguise. Sara was worried I'd be discovered and kicked out."

Yuri blinks. "You… What were you going to do if you lost?"

Mila shrugs. "I'd have married Gerogi and waited for Sara to poison her spouse." Yuri gapes and she breaks into laughter. "I'm joking!"

"Yeah, I can't see Sara poisoning anyone," Yuri mutters. "You, on the other hand…"

"You'd be surprised. But you see… even though it might seem that people like us are stuck in arranged marriages, there's no reason we can't arrange them ourselves. Like me or Christophe." Mila sighs. "Viktor could have been the same, if only he hadn't acted so damn impulsive and angered all those noblemen…"

Just then, Otabek enters the field. Yuri raises one hand in greeting as he absently says, "Yeah, well, some of us are stuck with the choices other people made."

"Maybe," Mila says. "Then again, you're smiling. Have you finally stopped pretending you don't like him?"

Startled, Yuri turns away and stares at the ground until he's sure his features are schooled into a scowl. "He's up against Jean-Jacques; I'm just hoping he'll kick His Majesty's arse."

Just the sight of Jean-Jacques on his horse is enough to give Yuri hives. Unlike all the other knights, his shield doesn't bear his family's arms – it has his monogram, two Js in golden lettering, surrounded by an ornate crown.

Yuri hopes Otabek destroys him. He'd call out Otabek's name, but he's supposed to act with dignity. Jean-Jacques's wife has no such qualms. Queen Isabella blows a kiss from the stands and calls out an encouragement.

The herald sounds his trumpet and the two horses surge forward. Yuri tenses, hands clenched into fists inside his gauntlets. Otabek is good, but so is Jean-Jacques. But as the riders meet in the middle of the field, Jean-Jacques fumbles his shield.

In a blink, Otabek's lance hits him squarely in the chest, lifting him off his horse. Yuri forgets to breathe – Otabek is magnificent. Jean-Jacques flails for a moment before crashing into the mud. The audience gasps; Jean-Jacques had been one of the favourites. Isabella is calling out something from the stands. She sounds distressed, and Yuri frowns at Jean-Jacques on the ground, waiting for him to get up.

Finally, after a few tense moments, Jean-Jacques pushes himself to his feet. His previously-gleaming armour is now covered in mud and grass stains, but he appears to be fine. He even poses and gives the audience an extravagant bow; but he holds himself stiffly when he walks away.

Otabek removes his helm and his eyes go straight to Yuri.

"Well done!" Yuri calls out, smiling despite himself.

"Did he win?" Sara asks, showing up just then.

Mila nods. "How's Michele?"

Sara shakes her head. "I've left him with Emil and a bottle of wine," she says, managing to sound both fond and exasperated. "He'll be fine."

One of the heralds motions for Yuri to come forward.

"My turn," Yuri says. He signals for horse. "Be right back."

"Feeling smug? Christophe is one of the best of his generation," Mila reminds him.

"There's a younger generation now."

Despite his flippant words, Yuri is taking his opponent very seriously. In his youth, Christophe would have been a champion several times over if it hadn't been for Viktor, and he's lost none of his skill since then.

Otabek is waiting for Yuri at the edge of the field. He's still on his horse, his helm under his arm, hair plastered back by perspiration. "Yuri," he says, soft, and Yuri's heart does a little flip. "Davai."

Yuri nods. If he says anything, he feels he won't be able to stay focused. So he brushes past Otabek and concentrates on the match ahead as he trots onto the tourney ground.

The match takes a long time, neither jouster unseating the other. Christophe seems unmovable, using his larger frame to his advantage and refusing to budge even when Yuri strikes him squarely on the shield or on the front of his armour. Meanwhile, his hits pack a wallop, and Yuri has to use all of his agility to remain astride.

At the end of three passes Yuri has broken three lances against Christophe's shield, while Christophe has broken just two. Viktor goes down to the field and examines the lances himself before proclaiming Yuri the winner.

"Congratulations on being one of the finalists," Viktor tells him.

Yuri pulls off his helm, breathing hard. He would like to tell Viktor to congratulate him when he's won the whole thing, but he bites his tongue and gives him a small bow.

Yuri barely has time to catch his breath, because Otabek and Katsuki are up next, in the match to decide who else will be in the final match. They stare at each other across the field, Katsuki all decked in black, Otabek in his plain utilitarian armour.

Instead of leaving immediately, Viktor walks up to his husband to say a few words of encouragement. He puts his hand on Katsuki's mailed knee and Katsuki leans down to whisper back.

Yuri considers doing the same, but the thought of saying sweet things to Otabek in front of a crowd is embarrassing. So he limits himself to raising one arm in greeting as he rides past Otabek and off the field. "Davai," he says.

Otabek flashes him the briefest hint of a smile as he lowers his visor.

When he reaches the edge of the field, Yuri jumps off his horse and tosses the reins to his squire. The pretence is that he needs to stretch his legs before the final match, but really it's because this way he can push his way to a better spot to watch the joust.

Otabek raises his shield, the gold and blue of the Altin crest gleaming in the sun. A soft wind stirs his blue cloak and the plume on his helm. Yuri bites his lips. The people in the stands fall completely silent as the match begins.

Both knights urge their horses forward, lances pointed against each other. They both hit their target. The lances splinter with a crack that is almost drowned by the noise of the horses' hooves.

Yuri's heart skips a beat as Otabek slips sideways. Otabek throws one hand up, trying to grab the reins, but he can't regain his balance on the moving horse. He falls on his outstretched arm.

A shout goes up from the crowd. Yuri grabs the fence in front of him and waits for Otabek to get up for one breath, then two, three. On the ground, Otabek is still sprawled where he fell. Then he shudders and rolls onto his back, bringing one gloved hand to his shoulder.

Yuri pushes through the mass of people surrounding him and runs to Otabek. He's dimly aware of someone calling for the physician.

"Are you all right?" a voice calls out. Someone – Katsuki, Yuri realises – is approaching Otabek. "I'm sorry–"

"Shut the fuck up!" Yuri yells, pushing Katsuki back before he can come any closer. Then he kneels next to Otabek, his armour clanking with every brusque movement. "Otabek, how are you? Talk to me."

Otabek doesn't answer, and Yuri can't even see his face, hidden behind the visor. Yuri tries and fails to take off Otabek's helm with his gloved hands. With a curse, he takes off his gauntlets and tosses them aside. His fingers are shaking.

Finally, Yuri manages to get the helm off. Otabek's face is pale and covered with cold sweat. His eyes are closed, his mouth contorted in a grimace. "Otabek," Yuri calls again, almost in a whisper.

Otabek frowns, then opens one eye. "Yuri…" he murmurs. He reaches blindly for Yuri, and Yuri grabs his gloved hand between his own. Otabek's other arm isn't moving.

Someone tries to pull Yuri away. "Your Highness, let us take him to his tent!"

Yuri doesn't want to let go of Otabek's hand, but he doesn't know what else to do. He's never felt more powerless as he watches half a dozen men bodily lift Otabek and deposit him onto a stretcher.

Someone – Viktor – offers Yuri a hand. Yuri takes it and pushes himself to his shaky feet. There are mud stains on his greaves, dark against gleaming silver. Yuri looks back to Otabek. His own armour is dented so much that it's hard to tell where he's wounded.

"He'll be fine," Viktor says in his serious voice.

Yuri swallows. "You don't know that. Hey! Be careful!" he yells, as the men trying to lift the stretcher stagger under the weight of it. Otabek is grimacing and biting down on his lower lip.

"Don't worry about the tournament. Go with him," Viktor says.

Yuri doesn't need to be told. He follows the stretcher-bearers to Otabek's pavilion, staying just far enough from Otabek to avoid getting in the way. The pavilion is just a large canvas tent. If not for the gold and blue banner flying in front of it, it could have belonged to any hedge knight. A couple of Otabek's men are clearing the space inside.

Yuri would help them, but there aren't many items to move. Unlike Yuri's pavilion, which overflows with silks and carpets and ornaments, Otabek's tent is very sparsely furnished. Soon enough, the men have pushed away a chest and a spare saddle so Otabek can be carried to a cot in a corner.

"Where's the physician?" Yuri asks.

A couple of the men shake their heads. "We don't know, Your Highness."

"He'll be here soon," another man adds in a too-bright voice, but he's obviously just trying to placate Yuri.

Otabek's servants are trying to take off his armour, a task made more complex by the fact that Otabek can't even sit up. Otabek presses his lips together as they unlace the straps tying his pauldrons to his breastplate. The metal is warped and digs into his flesh.

"Careful there!" Yuri calls out. He bends over Otabek, waving away one of the men so he can lift away the piece of armour himself. Even though Yuri is being as delicate as he can, Otabek grimaces. "I'm sorry," Yuri mumbles. Under the armour and the padding, Otabek's linen shirt is drenched with sweat.

"We need to check if anything is broken," says one of the servants. As soon as he puts his hand on Otabek's shoulder, Otabek yells.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Yuri snarls, turning on the servant.

The man blanches. "Your Highness… 

"If you don't know what you're doing, then get out! All of you, get out!"

Yuri is too angry to think that the servants he's ordering around are not his own, that Otabek's men might refuse to leave their prince. But they take a look at Yuri's face and as one man they start backing out of the tent.

Yuri doesn't watch them go. He turns back to Otabek, who's now holding his arm to his chest. "Is it broken?" he asks. His hands hover over Otabek, but he's unwilling to touch him again and cause him more pain.

"I don't–" Otabek stammers through clenched teeth. "Don't think it's– broken."

"But there's something wrong with it." Yuri glances over his shoulder to the tent flap fluttering in the wind. "Where's that damn physician?"

Otabek's eyes are still half closed and clouded with pain. "It's nothing serious."

"You're barely conscious. And you're shaking!"

Otabek turns his head to the side, pressing one cheek against the thin mattress. "I've seen this happen to one of my men." The words come out with effort and Yuri has to bend closer to hear. "When I fell… I think… the bone in my upper arm popped out of its socket."

Yuri's stomach twists. If he looks closely, there's something off in the line of Otabek's left shoulder. "That seems serious to me." He brushes one hand against Otabek's brow, wiping away the sweat, and winces at the clamminess of his skin.

Otabek gives him a pained smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "A broken arm would be far more serious. This will heal cleanly, in time."

"But…"

"I'll be better once… once the bone is back in its place." He moves his throat soundlessly, then swallows. "Can you help me?"

Yuri would do anything to stop Otabek's pain, but he has no idea how to fix his arm. He hesitates, staring at the wounded shoulder. "What if I make it worse?"

"Yuri, it's fine." Otabek reaches out to take Yuri's hand with his good one. "I trust you."

Yuri's fingers curl around Otabek's and breathes out. "What do I need to do?"

Otabek tries to suppress a shudder. "It's– it's simple enough." His face is ashen, the words coming in laboured gasps. "But first. There's wine somewhere."

Yuri is loathe to let go of him even for a moment, but he gets up to look. Sure enough, there's an almost-full skin of wine on a short table. He helps Otabek into a sitting position, trying not to wince at the obvious pain that causes him, then holds the skin so Otabek can drink.

Otabek takes a couple of large gulps. "Thanks," he murmurs. "This helps."

Some of the wine has dribbled down the corner of his mouth. Yuri wipes it away with his thumb, hoping the spirits dulled Otabek's pain at least a little. He wouldn't mind a drink himself, but he has to stay sharp if he wants to help Otabek.

"So? What do you need me to do?"

Otabek looks at him with hazy eyes. "We need to get the bone back in its place. Here," he says, patting the empty space on the cot. "Sit next to me."

Yuri does, wrapping one arm around Otabek since he still looks like he's about to topple sideways. Even though Yuri is careful not to jostle his injured shoulder, Otabek winces at the contact. Was it just yesterday that they'd embraced, and Otabek's arms had felt so strong?

"Hold my forearm," Otabek says through clenched teeth. He puts his left hand on Yuri's shoulder, bending his elbow, even though it's clearly painful for him to do so.

Yuri grits his teeth. Otabek's body is racked with shudders. Yuri has seen plenty of injuries during tournaments, some bloodier and grislier, but it's different to see this happen to someone he knows. Someone he likes.

"Good," Otabek mutters. Yuri can feel his muscles tensing. "Now, you rotate my arm and… and push it towards me. Got it?" Yuri stares into his eyes and nods, and Otabek nods back. "You do it slowly, but don't stop."

Yuri nods again. "All right. I – All right. I'll move on the count of three. One, two…"

As soon as Yuri puts pressure on Otabek's arms, Otabek cries out. Yuri lets go of him, eyes wide with sudden panic. Otabek curls against Yuri, shaking with suppressed pain.

"Otabek, I can't!" Yuri runs his hands up and down Otabek's broad back, waiting for the shudders to subside. "Let me go and look for the physician, I'm making it worse!"

"No." The words rasp in Otabek's throat, but there's a steel edge to his voice. "Just give me a moment, this will pass."

"I'm hurting you."

Otabek gives him a smile that's more of a grimace. "This will hurt even if a physician is doing it."

That's no comfort at all. Yuri hates seeing him like that, bent in two and fighting back a cry of pain. But there's something in Otabek's words that demands he be obeyed. Yuri thinks he knows why his soldiers follow him into battle even though he's so young.

"All right," Yuri says, once the worst of the spasms have passed. "But you tell me if it becomes too much, understood?"

Otabek meets his gaze and nods. Yuri leans forward, touching their foreheads together, and takes a deep breath.

"I'll be fine," Otabek murmurs. "Your presence is comfort enough."

Yuri wishes he could believe it. He feels like a fool, being reassured by Otabek while he's in so much physical pain. But he swallows around the knot in his throat and nods.

"You tell me if you want to stop," Yuri insists, knowing that Otabek won't.

Pushing the bone back in place is a nightmare. Otabek's muscles clench and he grits his teeth; at one point he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. Yuri doesn't know if it's just his imagination, but he thinks he can hear the noise of bone scraping on bone under their loud and laboured breaths.

By the time Otabek's shoulder pops back into place, they're both covered in sweat. Yuri leans against Otabek's good shoulder and hides his face in the hollow of Otabek's neck. There are unshed tears prickling his eyes. Yuri wipes them surreptitiously before turning to look up at Otabek.

Otabek is cradling his injured arm, breathing hard. "That's better," he manages to say.

Yuri doesn't know if Otabek is shaking or if he is. He presses a fleeting kiss to Otabek's lips. Maybe they're both shaking. "You're all right," he says, tasting wine and blood on Otabek's lips. It's half a question and half reassurance.

Otabek nods. Then he slumps forward, leaning his weight against Yuri. "Thank you," he whispers in Yuri's ear.

Yuri snuggles closer into his embrace, holding him as tightly as he can without touching his injured shoulder. It's scary, how his entire world stopped when he saw Otabek fall. How he could barely think straight when Otabek cried out. Even now that Otabek's face is no longer distorted with pain, Yuri has to keep running his palms up and down Otabek's back to feel his heartbeat, to reassure himself that Otabek is still there.

Otabek still winces with every movement, but his heartbeat is slowing down. In fact, he seems calmer than Yuri.

"Don't look at me like that," he says, wrapping Yuri in a one-armed hug. "I'm fine."

Yuri doesn't know what his face looks like but he can't stop himself. If he thinks about how much worse Otabek could have been hurt, he feels close to breaking down.

"Yuri, I'm fine," Otabek repeats. He cups Yuri's cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of Yuri's eye. "I'm fine."

"I know that," Yuri says, holding back tears.

Otabek holds him closer. "I only regret that I won't be able to meet you in the finals."

"Just think about getting better."

Otabek just smiles at him. "Yuri, I have a confession to make."

"Oh?" Yuri wriggles a little, so he can look up at him.

"Last week, on the day I arrived," Otabek says. "I heard you talking with King Viktor about…"

He trails off, awkward. Yuri feels himself blush. He can't recall his exact words, but he and Viktor had been arguing about his marriage. Yuri had been very vocal against it.

"That's… Uh," Yuri mutters, glancing away. "It's not that I didn't like you. I was shocked because I had no idea Viktor was scheming to have the wedding this year."

"I know that now." Otabek takes Yuri's hand, linking their fingers together. "And I'm sorry for all the misunderstandings. I just wanted to say this. I know this started out as a marriage of convenience, so that our families can each get something in terms of power or status…"

Yuri clings to Otabek's fingers, shaking his head hard enough that some locks of hair slip out of his ponytail. "That doesn't matter now. I'd marry you even if you had nothing. I'd marry you today if I could, if you'd have me."

Otabek exhales. He brings Yuri's hand to his lips and presses a kiss to his shaky palm. In that moment, Yuri sees with perfect clarity why Viktor would throw away his throne for a man.

It's Viktor himself who comes looking for them. Yuri doesn't know how long has passed since Otabek was injured and the tournament ground to a halt, but when Viktor pulls aside the tent's flap, the sun is still high in the sky.

Otabek is dozing on Yuri's shoulder, though he jerks upright when Viktor enters the pavilion.

"Your Highness, I came to see how you're doing." Even though Viktor is addressing Otabek, he glances to Yuri as he speaks.

Yuri's arm tightens around Otabek's shoulders. Viktor doesn't seem surprised to find them sitting so close together, almost in each other's lap. Yuri almost wishes Viktor was outraged; it would give him a reason to be angry at him. Instead, Viktor just flashes the two of them a knowing smile.

"I'm much better, Your Majesty." Otabek's voice is unfailingly polite, even though Yuri notices the strain underneath. "My arm will mend." Yuri helped put his left arm in a makeshift sling, tying it close to Otabek's chest so it won't be jostled when he moves.

Viktor nods. "I'm glad to hear it." He pauses. "My husband conveys his deepest regrets for what happened. He would like to present his apologies."

"Please," Otabek says, "tell the prince consort not to worry. He won the joust fairly, and there's no lasting harm done."

Yuri doesn't feel nearly so forgiving, but he holds his tongue. Maybe he'll be able to forgive Katsuki after Otabek regains the use of his shoulder. "Where's that useless physician, anyway?" he huffs.

"Ah," Viktor says, eyes darting sideways. "It seems that he partook of too much ale and fell asleep under a table. I'm not sure they've been able to wake him up yet."

Yuri makes a disgusted noise.

"It's fine, it's fine!" Viktor exclaims, always the optimist. "The main thing is that there are no cuts or broken bones."

Despite his airy tone, Yuri notices that Viktor is looking at Otabek with a practised eye, staring at each bruise on his face and arms.

"Nothing's broken," Yuri tells him. Even though he wasn't sure of that, Otabek had assured him that a broken bone would hurt a lot more; also, when Yuri had run his hands on Otabek's arms and chest, he couldn't feel any fractures.

"That's good. So – can we go ahead with the final match of the tournament?"

Yuri hesitates. He's hardly given it any thought, but he's up against Katsuki. Yuri wants to avenge Otabek, but at the same time he doesn't want to leave Otabek's side. He looks at Otabek.

"Go on," Otabek says in an undertone. "If it can't be me, go get the winner's crown."

Yuri bites back a smile.

"Wonderful!" Viktor exclaims. "I'll go tell everyone! Oh, and I'll send you your squire, Yurio, you can't joust like _that_!"

Yuri looks down at himself and curses loudly. He'd almost forgotten that he removed half of his armour in his need to move more freely. The vambraces and one of the pauldrons lie discarded in a corner of the pavilion, and he has a vague recollection of handing his helm to his squire at one point. As for where the rest of his armour might be, he has no idea.

Fortunately, his squire arrives a few minutes later with a pile of pieces of armour stacked precariously in his arms. The plume on Yuri's helm has been spoiled in the confusion, but an inspection shows no other damage.

Yuri gets dressed in Otabek's pavilion because he's loathe to leave him out of his sight. Meanwhile, Otabek's servants arrive to help him change into a fresh shirt and doublet. He can only fit one arm into the doublet, which gives him a lopsided look, but when he throws a cloak over his shoulder there's almost no sign of his injury, just a tightness around his mouth indicating the effort he's making to stand up.

"You should rest," Yuri tells him as his squire finishes checking the straps of his armour to make sure they're in place.

Otabek smiles at him but shakes his head. "I'll rest after. I'm not missing this joust for anything."

Yuri can't help but smile back.

Despite Otabek's bravado, Yuri has to offer him his arm for the short walk from the pavilion to the tournament field. Otabek leans heavily on him; Yuri wraps his fingers around Otabek's elbow and imagines it's his warmth he feels through the layers of leather and fabric.

Yuri would walk Otabek all the way to his seat but Viktor meets them under the stands.

"Prince Otabek," Viktor says. Somehow he makes it sound like they ran into each other by pleasant coincidence. "I was about to take my seat. Walk with me."

"Just a moment," Otabek says, stopping Yuri before he relinquishes Otabek to Viktor.

Yuri watches, bemused, as Otabek unties the ribbon fastening his cloak and holds it out. The edges of the ribbon flutter in the wind. Its fabric is blue velvet threaded with gold, the Altin colours.

Yuri's fingers close around the ribbon. "For luck?"

Otabek shakes his head. "You don't need luck."

Yuri hesitates for a moment – his armour doesn't have pockets in which to tuck the trinket. Then he unties the leather strap tying back his hair.

The armour makes it difficult for him to raise his hands over his shoulders. Yuri makes two lousy attempts before turning to Viktor. "Do you mind?"

Viktor is only too happy to step forward and help him tie the ribbon around his ponytail. "It's just like when you were little."

Yuri briefly considers regicide, but stops when he catches Otabek's eye.

"It suits you." The quiet intensity in Otabek's voice makes Yuri weak at the knees.

"Thank you," Yuri replies, hiding a smile. "Though nobody will see it under the helm."

"I'll know it's there."

Yuri knows he really must go, else he'll start gushing in public like Viktor.

Katsuki is waiting on the field when Yuri rides in.

"Yuri–"

"Don't say anything," Yuri snaps. "Just– just ride as you always do. Because I won't forgive you if you give it anything but your best."

Katsuki nods. "Of course."

The crowd cheers them on as they get on the starting points. Yuri lowers his visor and his world narrows to the slit in front of his eyes. His breath echoes inside the helm, making everything feel warm and damp.

Forty yards in front of him, Katsuki's black stallion paws at the ground with impatience. Yuri fights the urge to look for Otabek in the stands – he can't turn around now, he must concentrate. Even though he's tired and his emotions are running out, he summons his last reserves of energy.

Yuri has seen the prince consort train every day for the past several months. He knows how he rides, he knows how he holds his lance, he knows every strength and every weakness. If someone can best Katsuki, it's him. But it's also true that Katsuki knows Yuri's jousting better than almost anyone, so Yuri is careful not to get cocky. He knows what to do to win, now he only has to push everything else out of his mind and do it.

Viktor himself rises from his seat to give the starting signal. Both opponents spur their horse forward in the same moment. Yuri's left hand tightens around the reins. In front of him, he can see the precise spot that he must hit to make Katsuki lose his balance. He focuses on that spot, a speck of gold paint, the tiny crown on Katsuki's shield.

The wind picks up as they're riding, making their cloaks flutter behind them, but Yuri's arm doesn't waver as he drives his lance into Katsuki's shield. He feels the recoil a moment later as Katsuki's lance also hits him, but Katsuki is already falling.

Gritting his teeth, Yuri fights for balance. Behind him he hears a thump and then the outcry from the crowd as the prince consort falls from the saddle.

Yuri's horse slows down as he approaches the other end of the field. Yuri's lance – splintered, now –falls from his hands. He's breathing hard. Everything happened so fast, he's still not sure it's over, but when he turns around he sees Katsuki picking himself up and calling something to Viktor, who's half-leaning out of the rails and flailing.

Otabek is next to Viktor, clapping along with the crowd. Yuri wants to run to him but he needs to catch his breath. He bends, almost doubling on his horse's neck, and draws in a shuddering gasp. For the first time he can hear clearly the noise from the stands: the crowd is chanting his name.

Yuri wrenches the helm from his head and almost drowns in the applause. They're not cheering because he's of royal blood or because of his family, but because of what he just did.

When his shoulders stop shaking, Yuri straightens himself and rides towards the centre of the stands, where Viktor is waiting. He waves at his friends, and even at Lilia, who's busy pressing a tiny lace handkerchief to her eyes.

"Good work!" Georgi calls, while Mila whistles. Even Lord Crispino, standing behind his sister's chair and sporting a black eye, is clapping.

"Excellent jousting," says Jean-Jacques, but Yuri doesn't even look at him. He rides past without a backwards glance.

"Yuri Plisetsky," Viktor says, raising the crown of laurels. "You have vanquished all the opponents, and so it's with great pleasure…"

Yuri moves past him too, to where Otabek is waiting for him. If Yuri stands on the stirrups, and Otabek leans down a little, their eyes are almost level.

"Congratulations," Otabek says, almost too quietly to be heard over the din.

Yuri holds out his hand. Otabek takes it, twining his fingers with Yuri's.

"I really wanted to go against you," Yuri says, brushing his thumb over Otabek's knuckles. He moves slowly, to keep himself from crushing Otabek with his mailed fist.

"So did I. Next time, for sure…"

Yuri nods, unable to form a reply. Once Otabek's shoulder has mended, he thinks. Even if they're married, it doesn't mean that they have to stop jousting. It'll be unconventional, having spouses in the same tournament, but Yuri is getting the hang of being unconventional.

Though, for some things, it's better to stick to tradition. Yuri swallows around the knot in his throat. He'd kneel, but his current position doesn't allow it, and it's hard enough to keep his balance while his horse frets. But Otabek leans forward as if he already knows.

"Prince Otabek." Yuri's words come out stilted, the tone of voice is not his own, and Yuri realises he's been trying to imitate Viktor. He shakes his head and starts again, squeezing Otabek's fingers. "Otabek. Will you do me the honour of becoming my husband?"

Even before the words are out of his mouth, Otabek is already smiling. "I will. You know that I will, Yuri."

He leans forward and, without a care for the hundreds of people watching, Yuri kisses him.


End file.
